If Only
by LindsayC173
Summary: An angry Ginny, a lovestruck Ron and Hermione, a confused Neville, Draco Malfoy, Hannah Abbot and some random fifteen-year-old Slytherin: not the team Harry would have chosen to work with on the important task of returning Hogwarts to its former state. However, Harry is in for a few surprises as an unlikely group of people discover more similarities than they ever thought they had.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story sort of popped into my head and I had to start writing it, but I'm not sure how regular the updates will be as I'm still not quite sure where I'm going with it. If people like it I may try and write a bit faster, but otherwise I'll just work on it whenever I have ideas.**

**To those of you who read my other fic - As The Walls Fall Down - I promise I _will_ try to update as soon as possible, I just keep getting sidetracked by random stuff that I'm inspired to write.**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters, settings etc. belong to me**

Chapter One

Doubtfully, Harry surveyed the strange little group standing before him. They were an odd team. Ron and Hermione – who were still awkwardly trying to work out their new relationship and were therefore quite difficult to be around – were trying to be supportive, but were struggling with so many issues themselves right now that it would probably be easier if they hadn't been here at all; Ginny – who was furious with him for leaving her for a year – had been very annoyed when she discovered she was assigned to his repair team and was determined to avoid him as much as possible; Neville – who was struggling to cope with his new-found glory and fame, but had nevertheless retained his practical, down to earth nature – was the one member of the team whose name Harry had actually been pleased to see on the list; Draco Malfoy – sulky and scowling – was only here at all because he had been sentenced to a year of community service rather than being sent to the already overcrowded Azkaban; Astoria Greengrass – a young, pretty Slytherin who Harry had never met before – had volunteered to take part, saying that she wanted to do something to help repair the damage done by the War, but Harry had no idea how useful she would really be; Hannah Abbot – a former member of the DA and one of Harry's classmates – was enthusiastic about the task, but Harry's experiences of her had always been of a naïve and often incompetent girl, who was nice enough but lacked self-confidence and was inclined to crack under pressure, and he wondered whether she would cope with the amount of work that had to be done. He sighed. This was going to be an interesting year. If they survived it without anybody killing anybody else, as well as actually getting some work done, it would be a miracle.

Volunteering for this had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It had been Professor McGonagall's idea to set up teams of volunteers, as well as the occasional Death Eater who had been sentenced to community service, in order to try and repair some of the damage done to Hogwarts during the final battle there. Harry had signed up immediately and she had made him leader of his team, saying that people would automatically look to him as an authority figure. He had been uncomfortable with the idea, in fact he still was, but McGonagall got her way. She always did.

"Right," Harry said, trying to sound confident, "We're going to be working as a team for the next year, trying to do as much work as possible repairing Hogwarts." He paused and looked around at the team: Ron and Hermione smiled supportively, Malfoy and Ginny glared at him, Neville gave him a sympathetic grin and Astoria and Hannah gazed intently at him, waiting eagerly to hear what he had to say. Reluctantly, he continued, "A lot of the work is going to have to be done manually, as Hogwarts is highly resistant to magic. In particular, we are going to start by working in the Head's study, which was demolished several days after the Battle in an explosion, the cause of which is still unknown, and it could be full of unknown magic, so could potentially be very dangerous if we use spells anywhere in the vicinity. In fact, Professor McGonagall has suggested that we leave our wands out here before going in there to work every day. Until we've cleared the rubble and sorted everything out properly even a simple charm could have disastrous results."

Nobody looked very happy at the idea of surrendering their wands every day, but nobody disagreed, and when he asked them to they obediently dropped their wands into the box Harry held out. Malfoy in particular hesitated for a very long time before giving up his, as though worried Harry might steal it again. Eventually, however, he seemed to realise that he was lucky to have his wand at all – the Ministry had confiscated that wands of many Death Eaters, and he only still had his due to being let off with a more lenient sentence than many of the others – and let it fall among the other wands. Harry counted the wands, making sure that there were definitely seven, before adding his own to the collection and setting the box on a table.

"Come on, then," he said, leading the way out of the empty classroom and along the corridor towards the entrance to the study. The little group followed him, some reluctantly, some eagerly, and some with an air of resignation. However they did follow him, and he took that to be a good sign. Or at least, a good start.

The gargoyle, which normally stood at the entrance to the office, had been taken away to be repaired, so they were free to climb the stairs unhindered. The stairs themselves were relatively undamaged, but when they reached the top the door was gone and half the doorway had collapsed, forcing them all to clamber through the small gap that remained. The sight that met them was catastrophic. Harry had been up earlier with McGonagall to inspect the damage, but everyone else was horrified. A large chunk of the ceiling had caved in, with large chunks of rubble landing on and completely destroying the desk. Part of the wall had crumbled, strewing more rubble across the floor and burying most of Dumbledore's old books and strange instruments. The paintings had been blasted off the walls and were in various states of disrepair. Those that could be salvaged had already been removed from the room and taken away; several were destroyed beyond repair and had been disposed of, though they would hopefully be replaced some time in the future. Many were still missing, and Harry was hoping that the team would discover them at some point, preferably still intact.

Quickly, Harry sorted everyone into smaller groups, hoping to avoid too many arguments. Knowing that Ron and Hermione would not deal well with being separated, he asked them to work on shifting the rubble off the desk and sorting through anything they might find underneath. Ginny and Neville had grown much closer throughout the year when they had been running the DA, and Neville was one of the few people she wouldn't immediately fly into a rage with nowadays, so he sent them to try and clear the pile of stones under which he believed most of the paintings lay. That left Malfoy, Astoria and Hannah so, hoping that Hannah would cope with working with the two Slytherins, and that Malfoy wouldn't cause too much trouble, he set them to work creating a bigger entrance so that eventually a new doorframe and door could be put in place. Harry himself didn't join any of the groups, but instead flitted from one to another, helping out where needed, giving his opinion and answering their questions about what to do with various objects they uncovered.

For the first hour or so, everything went fairly smoothly. Five minutes in, a fight erupted between Ron and Hermione, and everyone stopped to watch them yell angrily at each other, but then Ron caught Harry's eye, took a deep breath and apologised to Hermione for being such a git, she smiled and blinked back tears, saying she was sorry for being so bossy, and everyone went back to working in peace. Neville and Ginny chatted quietly as they worked and Harry avoided going near them, knowing that it would immediately ruin Ginny's improving mood. He watched from a distance though, a little jealous, as Ginny laughed easily at something Neville said. He didn't think he'd seen her so much as smile when she was around him for the last few months, and he still couldn't understand what he'd done wrong.

To Harry's astonishment, the most productive of the three groups was Malfoy's. He had been expecting moaning from Malfoy about how this was servants work that he shouldn't have to do, and about the fact that he had to work with a Hufflepuff, but his expectations were never realised. Malfoy worked quickly and quietly, rarely stopping to rest and not speaking a word, except to ask politely for help lifting a particularly large chunk of stone, or at one point to apologise for knocking into Hannah. Hannah and Astoria proved themselves diligent, sensible workers who worked excellently together. As far as Harry knew, they had never met before today, but they seemed to click immediately and worked as an efficient, seamless team, pausing only occasionally to help Malfoy when necessary. Astoria – who was only fifteen and was just helping the group for the next few weeks before term started – was extremely grown up for her age, and Hannah was not the Hannah Abbott Harry had once known. She was quietly confident, with a calm air and a gentle smile that never quite reached her sad, empty eyes. Then again, Harry thought, Hannah had been through a lot since he had last seen her. The death of her mother in their sixth year, for one thing. And then the year spent under the rule of Snape and the Carrows, and she fought with the DA during the Battle of Hogwarts, in which she had probably seen friends and classmates dying around her. That could have an enormous effect on anyone; Harry was sure that _he_ wasn't the same person he had been a couple of years ago. They had all changed. War did that to people.

Lost in thought, Harry didn't notice Ron and Hermione dragging the Pensieve out from beneath a pile of rubble and peering curiously at it. He did, however, notice Malfoy uncovering a strange, silver contraption – formerly Dumbledore's probably – and reaching out to pull one of the levers.

"No!" he shouted, leaping forward, but it was too late. Malfoy pulled the lever, the contraption exploded and they were all thrown backwards, landing hard on the stone floor with rubble showering down on them. When it was over, Harry sat up and looked around. Ron had thrown himself on top of Hermione to shield her, Ginny and Neville had their arms over their heads and everybody else was lying sprawled on the floor, but miraculously nobody was hurt. Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry glanced towards the source of the explosion to see what damage had been done, and his heart sank. The explosion had brought down another section of the ceiling, but this time it had collapsed directly over what was left of the doorway, creating a huge mound of bricks, which blocked the entrance and looked as though it would take weeks to shift. They were trapped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't and never will belong to me**

Chapter Two

They all stared in dismay at the entranceway, except for Astoria, who was looking in the other direction.

"The Pensieve!" she exclaimed, pointing. They all turned. The Pensieve was still sitting in the centre of the room where Ron and Hermione had dragged it to, but the explosion seemed to have affected it very strangely. The silvery substance that was normally calm and flat had begun to fizz and pop and long, glistening tendrils shot out of it at random. The group stood, transfixed, and gazed at the Pensieve. Then, without warning, Hannah gave a small cry and fell to her knees. Harry swung round to look at her. Something silver was seeping out of her and being sucked slowly towards the Pensieve. Memories? Harry wondered, but he didn't have time to think about it before the others began to collapse to their knees around him and, moments later, he felt his own knees give way beneath him and images began to flash through his mind, too fast for him to see who or what they showed, and whether they were random or belonged to his own memories.

And then it stopped. Opening his eyes, which Harry hadn't even realised were closed, he saw that the Pensieve had returned to its normal, tranquil state, and that all around him the others were also opening their eyes and clambering to their feet.

"What … what is that … that _thing_?" Hannah asked shakily, staring at the Pensieve. Realising that not everyone was as familiar with this rare magical object as him, Harry explained briefly what it was and what it did. Ron and Hermione already knew, though neither had actually used one, due to Harry telling them all about it previously, and it didn't seem as though this was new information to Astoria either, but for everyone else it was the first time they had heard of a Pensieve. They listened in silence as he explained and then Hannah asked quietly, "So were those our _memories_ it was sucking out of us?"

"I think so," Harry replied, "But I've never seen it do anything like that before. I suppose the explosion must have released a lot of strange magic into the air, which set it off. But normally somebody has to _choose_ to put his or her memories into a Pensieve. I didn't think it was possible for the Pensieve to take them by force."

"What does it matter?" snapped Malfoy, "Who cares about the stupid Pensieve? We're _trapped_ in here, in case you lot hadn't noticed!"

"Which was _your_ fault, Malfoy!" retorted Ginny, rounding on him, "What could _possibly_ have made you think that pulling the leaver on some unknown device of Dumbledore's was a good idea?"

"Well, if Potter hadn't made us leave our wands downstairs, it wouldn't be a problem," he said defensively, "We could have cleared this rubble in a few minutes and we wouldn't be trapped up here without any way of getting out!"

"And we'd also have set off an even bigger explosion, probably, with that much magic in the air," she replied, and Harry felt a slight glow inside him at the fact that she was defending him, even if it was just because she was pissed off at Malfoy.

Malfoy opened his mouth to snap back, but Harry had had enough. Stepping between them, he said calmly, "That's enough. It was an accident, and there's nothing we can do about it. Arguing won't get us out of here." They both glared fiercely at him, but fell silent. Ignoring them, Harry continued, "As far as I know, that doorway is the only entrance to the room, but Hogwarts is always surprising me and it's possible there is another way out. In the meantime, however, we just have to wait. I'm not sure it's a good idea to try and shift the rubble. It's far to big a job for us to manage on our own, and we could end up bringing the ceiling down on ourselves by accident. At some point McGonagall is bound to notice that we haven't come back, and come and investigate. With the help of magic, and a better view of how much rubble there really is, she'll be able to get us out a lot more easily and safely than we could get ourselves out." Harry finished speaking and looked around self-consciously, swearing to himself that from now on he would avoid leadership positions. There was too much speech making involved. Hermione was better at that, or Neville. Not him.

Nobody argued with him, however, or challenged his decision. Quietly, they sat down on the floor, making themselves comfortable on tattered cushions and leaning against large chunks of stone or against what was left of the wall. No one spoke; they just sat in silence, mentally preparing themselves for what could potentially be a very long wait. Harry gazed unseeingly at the Pensieve, lost in contemplation. Why had the Pensieve behaved so strangely? _Had_ it been taking their memories, and if so which ones? There was no way it could have taken all of them in such a short space of time, but had it been taking certain memories or simply the most recent or closest to the surface? Was there a reason, or was it just a random explosion of magic? And why, _why, _had Malfoy had to touch that lever? Surely he should have realised it was a bad idea? Then again, perhaps Harry couldn't talk. He _was_ known for doing pretty stupid things himself sometimes, particularly when he was curious. But what an unfortunate collection of people to find himself trapped in a room with. He'd thought there were going to be fights even with them just working together, but trapped in a room together, potentially for as long as a few days? It was going to be disastrous.

"I think we're here for a reason," Astoria said suddenly, as though answering his thoughts. Everyone looked at her.

"What?" said Harry.

"I don't think this was really an accident. I think it was supposed to happen. I'm not sure why yet, but I think the Pensieve has something to do with it. I think we're supposed to _watch _those memories that the Pensieve took from us." She said it very matter-of-factly, reminding Harry a little of Luna Lovegood when she came up with some strange theory that somehow made perfect sense in her own head, if not in anyone else's. He considered disregarding it, like he had learned to do with many of the things Luna said, but then he stopped himself. He wasn't sure about the "there's some deep, meaningful reason for us being trapped in a room together with no way of escape" theory, but there was a strange atmosphere in the room, as if something was supposed to happen and even the walls were holding their breath, waiting until it did. And he could feel an almost magnetic pull, urging him to move closer to the Pensieve.

"But people's memories are private," he argued, more with himself than Astoria as he inched closer to the stone basin, "We couldn't just all go looking through them. We have no idea what sort of memories could be in there." Astoria didn't reply but she looked at him knowingly, seeing his struggle to stay away from the Pensieve. Glancing around, he realised he wasn't the only one being drawn to it. Slowly, cautiously, everyone was shuffling closer to it, until they were kneeling in a circle, staring into the shining liquid. Captivated, they all watched as the opaque surface shifted into an image of a very familiar face.

Everyone looked at Hannah. Astoria said dreamily, "It wants to show us your memories first, Hannah." She said it merely as a statement, but everyone could hear the hidden question, and waited with bated breath for the answer. Slowly, Hannah nodded. Every face turned now to Harry, silently asking permission. Hardly believing he was agreeing to this, but unable to say no, Harry nodded too. The group turned again to the Pensieve and, in unspoken agreement, waited for Hannah to go first. Taking a deep breath, she leaned down until the tip of her nose touched the surface, and then disappeared into the Pensieve. One by one, the others followed, with Harry waiting to ensure that they all managed okay. Finally he was the only person left. Glancing around at the empty room, he braced himself for whatever he might find within Hannah's memories. He'd never had very good experiences with the Pensieve before, but he couldn't stop this now. Some leader he was. Oh well. Here goes …


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Harry landed in a round, low-ceilinged room, full of chattering students. The way everyone was sitting in little groups, doing homework, playing games or simple chatting reminded him of the Gryffindor Common Room in the evening, and that was when he realised where he was. The Hufflepuff Common Room; the one common room he had never entered throughout his time at Hogwarts.

Looking around with interest, he spotted some familiar faces. Clustered around a little table, poring over a piece of parchment, were Hannah, Ernie Macmillan and several other Hufflepuffs in their year. They were significantly younger, with innocent smiles and laughs that came easily, untainted by war and loss. Harry judged them to be twelve or thirteen, probably either at the end of second year or just starting third year.

"Come on," said Hermione, drawing closer to the little group. The others followed her.

"So now it's between Divination and Care of Magical Creatures," Hannah was saying to her friends, "And I have _no_ idea which one to pick. They both sound quite interesting. What do you think, Ernie?"

"Well, it all depends on-" Ernie began pompously, but was interrupted as a large owl swooped in through an open window and dropped a letter in Hannah's lap. Slowly, she tore it open and her eyes scanned down the page, an expression of disgust growing more and more prominent on her face as she read. Finally, she came to the end of the letter, and crumpled it up angrily, throwing it on the floor.

"How dare she try and run my life?" she exclaimed.

"Was it your mum?" Ernie asked sympathetically.

"Yeah," Hannah put on a high-pitched, whiny voice, "_You mustn't take Divination, Hannah. That's a stupid subject. I don't know why you even considered doing that. Take Care of Magical Creatures. _Ugghh! She annoys me _so _much sometimes! How _dare_ she think it's up to her what I pick? She's just trying to control my life again!"

"Well, you did write to her asking which one she thought was better," Ernie said reasonably, but Hannah wasn't listening.

"I'll _prove_ she can't tell me what to do! I'm picking Divination."

"Hannah, are you sure you don't want to think about it a bit?" one of her friends suggested timidly.

"No!" Hannah snapped, and her friend shrank back a little, "Now I'm going to bed. Goodnight!" and she stormed out of the room, leaving her friends looking after her, a little shocked by her outburst.

"She was right, of course," a softer voice said, and Harry and the others turned to see the older Hannah staring after her younger self regretfully, "Divination _is _a stupid subject, and I wished I'd listened to Mum from the moment I walked into that classroom, but I would never admit I had been wrong. I'm normally very laid-back about most stuff, but when it came to my mum I was always so stubborn and stupid. We fought constantly, and it was almost always her who apologised first, even if it wasn't her fault at all."

Nobody replied, and the scene dissolved, reforming to show the very familiar scene of Platform nine and three-quarters, bustling with people. Harry glimpsed himself at the other end of the platform, and judged that it was probably the beginning of sixth year. Then he turned his attention to Hannah, who looked much more similar to the present-day Hannah, though her face still held the innocence it had held in second year; the innocence that showed she was still a child, rather than a young woman who had been forced to grow up far too quickly. There was a woman with her, a woman who looked so like her she was like a thirty-year-older version of the same person. At that moment, with their faces twisted into similar expressions of anger, they were so similar it was scary.

"Just leave me alone, okay?" Hannah yelled.

"Not until you apologise, young woman!" her mum, for it must be her mum, yelled back.

"_I'm _not going to apologise! _You _were the one who started it!" Hannah shoved her trunk onto the train and went to climb on after it.

"I certainly did _not! _Listen to me Hannah Catherine Abbott-"

"No, I _won't _listen to you! Just get lost! I didn't _ask _you to come and see me off, so why don't you just go home?" With that, Hannah stepped onto the train and disappeared out of sight, ignoring her mum's attempts to stop her.

The scene faded again, and then they were all standing in a corridor at Hogwarts. Far-off bangs and shouting indicated that there was fighting going on. A seventeen-year-old Hannah hurried down the corridor, just in time to spot Colin Creevey darting furtively out of a doorway.

"Colin!" she shouted and he stopped in his tracks, looking at her guiltily.

"Hi, Hannah," he said brightly.

"Colin, you're underage. You're not supposed to be here. Why didn't you leave with the others?"

"I'm snuck back in," he said, drawing himself up proudly, "I'm going to fight with the rest of the DA."

"No you're not," said Hannah firmly, "You're only sixteen, Colin. Now get out of here."

"_Harry_ was only eleven the first time he fought You-Know-Who," Colin protested.

"Yeah, but … he's _Harry_. That's not the same." Hannah argued.

"Wasn't that what the DA was meant to be about, though? Teaching underage witches and wizards to fight. If we're not actually going to be allowed to use all that, what was the point?"

"Well …" Harry could see that Hannah's resolve was cracking, and so, apparently, could Colin.

"Come on, Hannah," he wheedled, pressing his advantage. She sighed.

"Alright then," she said, and then called after his retreating back, "But be careful!"

And then they were all back in the office, sitting around the Pensieve. Everyone looked a little shocked, and Hannah had tears streaming down her face. Ginny went over and put her arm around Hannah's shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault that Colin died," she said gently.

"Yeah," Neville agreed, "He'd probably have found a way to sneak back in, even if you _had_ made him leave."

"I could have stopped him, though," Hannah sobbed, "And that-that was the l-last time I ever saw her. M-my mother. I never got a chance to tell her how s-sorry I am." They all watched helplessly as she wept uncontrollably into Ginny's shoulder.

"That's it," Harry decided, "We're putting the Pensieve away. We can't put anyone else through that."

"No." Hannah's voice was firm, in spite of her tears.

"But Hannah it's too-" Harry began to protest, but she interrupted him.

"Everyone got to see my memories. I think I have the right to see everyone else's."

"But we can't-"

"Actually, she's right," said Ginny, "It would be unfair if we stopped now."

"But I … oh, alright then," Harry gave up, "But only if everyone else agrees." Slowly, some more reluctantly than others, everyone nodded. Harry turned towards the Pensieve again.

"There's no face this time," he said, "It could be any of us." He bent down until his face touched the surface and then felt himself tip forwards, landing in a small room. As the others appeared around him, he examined the room, aware that it was familiar in some way but unsure when he had been in it before. Then, spotting the small, redheaded eleven-year-old sitting at a desk in the corner, he realised. It was Ginny's room, but decorated in the tastes of the younger Ginny, rather than how he had seen it on his seventeenth birthday.

The group crowded around the desk, peering over Ginny's shoulder to see what she was doing. A pile of textbooks stood on the desk, and she was flicking through them, stopping occasionally to read passages that caught her attention. As she set down The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and reached for the next book in the pile, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Harry suddenly realised what this memory was and glanced at the present-day Ginny, unsure if she would be comfortable with everyone seeing this. However, she didn't look at him, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the younger Ginny, who had just discovered a small, black diary wedged inside her textbook.

Carefully, she flicked through the diary, discovering the name at the beginning and searching the rest of the pages for some indication that it had been used, but finding nothing. Eventually she seemed to decide that Tom Riddle had never bothered to write in his diary, and turned to the first page, apparently planning to use it herself. Taking out a quill and pot of ink from a drawer in the disk, she wrote slowly and carefully, _Dear Diary,_ and then stopped, thinking. Suddenly, the words vanished. Ginny dropped her quill and stared at the paper, but before she could do anything, new words appeared on the page: _Hello, my name is Tom Riddle. What is yours and how did you come by my diary? _

Ginny didn't reply immediately. Uncertainty flickered across her face and Harry wanted to yell at her not to write back, to take the diary to her parents or throw it out the window or burn it or do anything but what he knew she was going to do. After what seemed like a very long time, Ginny picked up her quill. _Dear Tom, my name is Ginny Weasley …_

The memory shifted, and they were standing under a large, white canopy, just outside the Burrow. People were dancing in the centre, and others sat at tables around the dance floor, talking and laughing.

"I simply can't dance any more," Harry heard Hermione's voice say, and turned to see her sitting down next to a slightly younger version of himself. Hermione continued to speak, but the present-day Harry wasn't listening. Instead he was looking around for Ginny, who must be nearby as this was her memory. He soon found her, sitting only metres away from the other him and Hermione. He was sure he hadn't noticed her being so close when he'd actually experienced this memory. Then again, he'd been a little preoccupied.

Suddenly, a large, silver Patronus appeared on the dance floor, causing everyone to fall silent as Kingsley's voice said loudly, "_The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming._"

Screams broke out, and Harry and Hermione (the ones from the memory) ran through the crowd, followed closely by the memory Ginny and the little group. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand as they found him and they could see the three friends preparing to disapparate. Ginny was only centimetres away from them and she reached out, as though to grab onto the back of Harry's robes, but then hesitated for a moment, and before she could make up her mind he had vanished and she was left standing in the middle of the crowd of panicking people, staring at the spot where he had been.

And then they were back in the office again. Ginny wasn't crying, but she was white and her hands were shaking a little.

"The two biggest mistakes of my life," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, "Writing in that stupid diary and," she turned to Harry, "letting you go without me."

"You couldn't have come with me anyway," Harry said, "We wouldn't have let you." She rounded on him.

"No you wouldn't, would you?" she snapped, "After all, why would you want your best friends _stupid_ kid sister tagging around after you?"

"That's not what I meant-" Harry began, but she cut through his apology.

"Do you know what it was like, sitting around at Hogwarts, praying that you were still alive but having no way to know for certain, and relying on rumours and second-hand stories about your great adventures to give me a tiny bit of reassurance? Can you even _begin_ to imagine how that felt, or were you too busy saving the world to give me a second thought? After all, it's not like I was _in love_ with you, or anything. It's not like I was actually _important_ to you!"

"Ginny, I didn't-"

"Save it, Harry. I'm not interested." Her face was stony, and Harry hadn't forgotten her terrifying Bat-Bogey Hex. He decided not to push it at the moment.

There was silence for a few moments, before Hannah asked, "What was that diary thing?" Ginny turned to face her and Hannah shrank back a little, as though scared she was going to start yelling again, but instead Ginny took a deep breath and began to tell the story of the Chamber of Secrets and her part in opening it. Harry, Ron and Hermione already knew it, of course, but everyone else listened intently, eager to learn what had _really _happened that year. Dumbledore had never shared the full story with the rest of the school, respecting Ginny's right to privacy, and there had always been a certain mystery surrounding the full details of how the Heir of Slytherin had been defeated.

When Ginny finished her story, there was silence, and then Astoria said, "So basically we're being shown the moments of our lives we regret the most. Hannah regrets not listening to her mum's advice more often, and fighting with her mum a little while before she died, and letting Colin Creevey fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. And Ginny regrets writing in Tom Riddle's diary, and letting Harry, Ron and Hermione leave her."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Neville agreed, eying the Pensieve nervously.

"I wonder who's next," Hermione said. Ginny narrowed her eyes and walked over to the Pensieve.

"Let's find out."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Don't expect this fast an update every time: I was just having so much fun writing I got the chapter finished really quickly. As usual, please review!**

Chapter Four

The group found themselves once again in a corridor at Hogwarts, but the atmosphere was lighter and the sounds more innocent than in Astoria's memory, suggesting that it was further in the past. This was confirmed when a much younger, and more innocent but less confident Neville Longbottom.

"Looks like it's your turn, Neville," Ron said, but Neville (the older) was frowning.

"I don't know," he replied slowly, "I don't remember this at all."

"But it has to be yours. I mean, who else could it be?" Hermione said.

"It's mine," someone said quietly, and everyone turned to see Draco Malfoy, who was gesturing at a younger version of himself, strutting down the corridor towards Neville.

"Hey! Longbottom!" the younger Draco called, and Neville glanced up in panic. "_Locomotor Mortis!_" Neville's legs locked together and he toppled to the floor. Draco laughed.

"Thanks, Longbottom," he said, "I've been looking for someone to test that on." He walked over to Neville and looked down at him, sneering. "Some Gryffindor _you _are," he said derisively, "And I thought you lot were supposed to be _brave_." Laughing, he walked away, leaving Neville lying helplessly in the middle of the corridor.

* * *

The scene changed, and they appeared to have moved backwards in time. Harry and Ron were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, talking about Quidditch and sharing Harry's sweets, on their way to Hogwarts for the very first time. Draco Malfoy was just sliding open the compartment door, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Is it true?" he said as he came in, "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?" The scene played out, but Harry didn't need to watch the rest. He had been there, and he could still remember it fairly well. Instead, he looked at the present-day Draco Malfoy, who was watching his younger self with a very strange expression on his face. He looked far more vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him. No doubt, had he realised that someone was watching him – the older him, that is, rather than the younger one – he would have put his arrogant, impenetrable mask back in place, but for the moment he had let his guard down, and Harry swore he could even see tears glistening in those cold, grey eyes.

* * *

Soon, the memory finished and the scene faded to become a new one. This time, they were in a dark clearing, in the middle of which stood Draco and his mother, Narcissa.

"Don't do this, Draco!" Narcissa hissed urgently, grabbing his arm, "You don't have to do this! Please don't! You're too young!"

"Get _off _me, Mother," Draco snapped, shaking her off, "And be quiet! There's nothing you can say. I'm _not _too young, and I _do_ have to do this."

"But, Draco-" Narcissa began, but was interrupted by a pop as a figure appeared in front of them. Harry heard a few people gasp behind him, and he had to admit it was a little scary to see Lord Voldemort standing only half a dozen metres from them, even if he _was_ only a memory and couldn't _actually_ hurt them. One by one, other figures popped into existence as the Death Eaters, those who weren't in Azkaban, at least, appeared, forming a circle around Draco and Narcissa. Reluctantly, Narcissa stepped away from her son and went to stand outside the circle. Not an official Death Eater, she clearly wasn't welcome in their business, though she was permitted to remain a little way away, waiting for Draco.

"Draco Malfoy," Voldemort said, in his low voice, "You wish to join our numbers?"

"Yes, my Lord," Draco said quietly.

"You are willing to obey my every command; even to torture or murder in my name?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"You will serve me, and only me, placing your obedience to me above everything else, until the day you die?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And you understand that, should you disobey one of my commands, betray me, or fail to carry out a task given to you by me, your action will result in death, not only for you, but for your entire family?"

"Y-yes, my Lord."

"Very well. Hold out your left arm." Draco did as commanded, and Voldemort pressed his wand lightly to Draco's skin. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Draco gave a scream of pain and collapsed to his knees. The Death Eaters laughed, and he looked down at his arm, which now bore the Dark Mark.

"Just remember," Voldemort said softly, "That was only a fraction of the pain you will feel should you ever fail me. Do you understand?" Still on his knees, Draco looked up at the man – if he could really be called a man – who towered over him.

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

Before anyone could recover from that memory, they were thrown into another. They were standing on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Dumbledore was pressed up against the wall, his face white, and Draco stood with his wand pointed at Dumbledore, hand shaking violently.

"There is little time, one way or another," Dumbledore was saying, "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"_My _options!" Draco retorted, doing his best impression of complete confidence, but not quite succeeding in making it convincing, "I'm standing here with a wand – I'm about to kill you – "

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

"I haven't got any options!" Malfoy gave up completely on the tough act, "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of you position. Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realised that I suspected you. I did not dare to speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you. But now at last we can speak plainly to each other … no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived … I can help you, Draco."

"No, you can't," Draco insisted, "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possible imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban … when the time comes we can protect him too … come over to the right side, Draco … you are not a killer …"

"But I got this far, didn't I?" Draco said slowly, more in an attempt to convince himself than Dumbledore, "The thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here … and you're in my power … I'm the one with the wand … you're at my mercy …"

"No, Draco," Dumbledore replied quietly, "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now." Draco stared at Dumbledore. From this angle, rather than the one Harry had seen everything from the first time round, he could see Draco begin to lower his wand, clearly convinced by Dumbledore, when the door slammed open and the Death Eaters ran in. Harry was about to turn away, not wishing to see Dumbledore's death for a second time, but there was no need. The scene dissolved, and they were no longer on the top of the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

Now they were in Malfoy Manor, in the enormous drawing room. Hermione was lying on the floor, and Bellatrix stood over her.

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!_" A jet of light flew out of Bellatrix's wand, and Hermione screamed. The present-day Hermione gasped and hid her face in Ron's shoulder, and he hugged her tightly. Unable to watch Hermione being tortured, Harry cast his eyes around for something else to focus on and spotted the present-day Draco Malfoy, standing beside his past self. They were watching Bellatrix and Hermione with similar expressions of pity for Hermione and revulsion towards Bellatrix. Harry saw the memory Draco reach for his wand, unnoticed by everyone else in the room, as they were all watching Bellatrix and Hermione, and stare at it for a moment, indecision flickering over his face. He raised it, pointed it at Bellatrix, and then lowered it again, collapsing into the armchair behind him and burying his face in his hands.

"It's a copy, just a copy!" Hermione sobbed. Bellatrix replied sceptically, but she had stopped torturing Hermione, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief …

* * *

They were back at Hogwarts, and Draco was hurrying along with Crabbe and Goyle, following a crowd of Slytherins towards the door that led to the Room of Requirement. Suddenly, Crabbe stopped. The others looked at him impatiently.

"Come on!" Draco urged.

"Why don't we stay?" Crabbe said slowly. Draco stared at him like he was mad.

"We're not going to stay," he snapped impatiently, "We don't want to fight for Potter and the Order."

"Not to fight. We could hang back and catch Potter. And then we could bring him to the Dark Lord, and we'd be rewarded!" Draco looked reluctant.

"But-"

"But what? You _scared _Draco?"

"No I just-" Crabbe and Goyle were looking expectantly at him, "Oh, fine! But hurry up, before someone notices that we're not leaving." The three of them darted into a little corridor.

* * *

And suddenly they were back in the office again, all the memories over. Harry sighed with relief. Draco's memories were darker than the others had been, and he didn't think he could cope with any more at that particular moment.

"There were so _many_," Hermione said quietly, still a little shaken by seeing herself tortured.

"Why is that surprising?" Draco snapped, "After all, I'm the terrible Death Eater who did all sorts of awful things. Surely it makes sense that I have more to regret than all you _perfect_ little members of the DA?"

"No I'm just surprised that you-"

"That I actually _regret _that stuff?" Draco asked bitterly, and when Hermione didn't deny it he continued, "I'm not as cold-hearted as you all think. I do _have_ a conscience."

"I think I understand the later ones," Astoria said after a moment, "You regret becoming a Death Eater, and not accepting Dumbledore's offer of help. And you regret not stepping in and helping Hermione when Bellatrix was torturing her, and then agreeing to go back and try to capture Harry in the Battle of Hogwarts. But what about the first two? What do you regret about them?" Harry waited eagerly for Draco's answer, as he too had been wondering this. Draco Malfoy had bullied Neville for years, so why did he regret that memory in particular? And the one on the train made no sense at all.

Draco, however, just snapped, "None of your business, Greengrass," and turned away. Sensing that this wasn't the time for another trip into the Pensieve, and judging by his tiredness that it must be getting quite late, Harry said firmly, "Okay, we're going to sleep now. Everyone," when they started to protest he said, "We're could be stuck in here for a while, and we need to keep our strength up. We can watch more memories tomorrow."

Reluctantly, they agreed. There were cushions scattered throughout the room, some in a better state then others, and they made themselves as comfortable as possible, though the floor was hard and the room cold. Ginny, Neville, Astoria and Hannah huddled up together for warmth, and Harry would have joined them but Ginny's glare was enough to discourage that idea. Hermione was already asleep, curled up against Ron. With a pang of something like jealousy, Harry realised he wouldn't really be welcome over there either, though Ron wouldn't make it as obvious as Ginny. With a sigh, Harry lay down in one corner of the room, his body braced against the cold. The events of the day rushed around his head, but he did his best to calm his mind in an attempt to get to sleep. He would need all the rest he could get before tomorrow, of that he was sure.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harry woke early the next morning. As there was little light in the room, it was hard to tell _how _early, but from the little cracks in the ceiling, he judged it must be about four or five in the morning. Digging around in his jacket pocket for his watch, he confirmed that it was in fact just after half four.

Glancing over at the others, he saw they were still deeply asleep. Ron and Hermione were still snuggled up together. Somehow, Neville and Hannah had also ended up very close together, with Neville's arm draped over Hannah's sleeping form, and her body pressed up against his. Astoria had obviously found a blanket somewhere, and was curled up underneath it. Ginny, having obviously moved a little in her sleep, was now lying about a metre away from Neville and Hannah, and was shivering violently. She looked so vulnerable and innocent in sleep, as though the last few terrible years had dropped away. Quickly, Harry pulled off his jacket and draped it over her. The shivering subsided and her body relaxed.

Shivering himself now without the jacket, Harry looked around and realised that he wasn't the only person awake early. Sitting at the other end of the room, his back to Harry, his face to the wall, was Draco Malfoy. Uncomfortably, but feeling he ought to, Harry slowly approached him and just as he opened his mouth to say something, though what he wasn't really sure, Draco said, without turning around, "It was the first time _I _properly bullied someone else. That memory with Neville. I'd been bullied by my father my whole life, when he wasn't spoiling me that it, but that was the first time I did it to somebody else. And it made me feel powerful. Really powerful. It doesn't make any sense to me now. After how miserable my father had made me, why did I want to do that to somebody else? But at the time it was my best way of coping with all the pressure he put me under, to get good grades and do really well and uphold the family name. But I wish I hadn't. I _really _wish I hadn't." He fell silent, and Harry sat down beside him.

"What about that other memory? The one in the train? Why would you regret that?" Harry asked. Draco didn't answer, and Harry was just about to say something else, when Draco turned to face him.

"Would you ever have made friends with a Slytherin?" he asked, "If I hadn't been so horrible, I mean. Or would you have avoided me anyway once we got to Hogwarts and were sorted into different houses?"

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly, "People had told me a lot of awful stuff about Slytherins, but I might have given you a chance if you'd seemed nicer than that. I don't know." Draco sighed.

"I always wondered what would have happened if I _had_ made friends with you, and with Ron and Hermione. Other than my father disowning me, that is. Would I still have been weak and pathetic and ended up joining the Death Eaters and betraying you all? Or would I have been someone different?" Harry didn't answer – he had no answer to give – and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry thought how strange the situation was, him sitting here listening to Draco Malfoy talk about his deepest regrets – and how little he would have expected it when he agreed to lead this repair team. It felt right somehow, though, and he wondered whether it was possible that Astoria was right about all of this being "supposed to happen".

Suddenly, there was a loud pop, a little like the sound of somebody apparating. Harry leapt up and spun round to see what the source of the noise was, but could see nothing out of place. Everyone began to stir sleepily, woken by the sound. Neville and Hannah sprang apart when they realised how they had been sleeping, blushing and mumbling an apology to one another. Astoria sat up, immediately wide awake, and Ginny, realising suddenly whose jacket she was sleeping under, threw it off and scowled at Harry.

"Wass goin' on?" Ron mumbled drowsily, his arm still around Hermione.

"Yeah, what was that noise?" Astoria asked. Harry's eyes scanned the room, alighting suddenly on a piece of paper that was lying on the floor. It hadn't been there before, that he was fairly sure of. Drawing closer and picking it up he realised it was a letter, folded up neatly with _Harry Potter _written on the front in what he recognised immediately as Professor McGonagall's handwriting. Unfolding it carefully, he began to read.

_Harry, _it began, _if you are reading this then we have succeeded in sending it through to you, which I am currently doubtful will actually be possible. I sincerely hope you are all okay, and that nobody was hurt when the ceiling and wall collapsed. The situation is worse than we at first believed. There is some sort of invisible barrier in place around the room, preventing us from using magic anywhere within ten metres of it. It also prevents anyone from apparating into the room in order to get you out, even House Elves, who can normally apparate to places witches and wizards cannot. This means the rubble will have to be cleared by hand, which we have a team working on as quickly as possible, but it may be as much as week before they will be finished. I hope that this letter is small enough that I will be able to send it through, and will do my utmost to find a way of sending food through to you. This is a very strange kind of magic we are dealing with, as can be expected from a room that used to belong to Albus Dumbledore, and as such is unpredictable and difficult to understand. Rest assured that we are doing everything we can to get you out as quickly as possible, and in the meantime try to be patient and remain calm._

_Yours, Minerva McGonagall_

"What does it say?" asked Astoria, and Harry passed it to her. Everyone crowded round to read. Harry turned away from them, hiding the look of panic he was sure was crossing his face. A week? That was a long time. Admittedly, everyone did seem to be getting on as well as could be expected at the moment, but he wasn't sure if that would last. Particularly if they couldn't get food for a few days. Ron, for one, tended to get pretty grouchy when he was hungry, and it was likely many of the others would react the same way. And with these memories bringing up all sorts of things people had pushed to the backs of their minds, it was inevitable that there would be fighting sooner or later. He could only hope that McGonagall would have a sudden breakthrough and discover a faster way of getting them out. In the meantime, they would just have to survive the best they could.

"A week?" said Hermione, looking up from the letter, "We have to survive in here for a week?"

"Why'd you have to pull that stupid lever, Malfoy?" Ron asked angrily, "You knew it was-"

"Yeah, yeah, it's all my fault," Draco muttered bitterly.

"Well it is your fault! You're the one who-"

"Can we all just-" Harry began feebly, but Ron and Draco ignored him and started yelling at each other, Hermione taking Ron's side, and Draco getting more and more defensive.

"SHUT UP!" Everyone fell silent, turning to look at Ginny, who had her hands planted firmly on her hips and suddenly very much resembled her mother. "Will all of you _please _stop fighting?" she said, "We're stuck with each other for the next week, and we're going to have to make the best of it. I'm not saying you have to _like _each other; feel free to absolutely hate one another if you like," with that she glared at Harry, "But try to be polite, or at least just avoid talking to each other at all. We're not going to help anything by yelling at each other all the time."

Ron stared at the floor, shamefaced, and Draco muttered an apology. Harry stepped forward, giving Ginny a grateful smile, which she ignored completely, and began to speak, trying to sound confident and in control, rather than absolutely terrified.

"Ginny's right; we have to try and get on the best we can. I think the best thing we can do at the moment is carry on watching those memories. We've had Hannah, Ginny and Draco, so today we should get through Neville, Astoria, Ron, Hermione and me."

"Yeah right," Draco muttered, "Like Dumbledore's perfect little Golden Trio have anything to regret." Harry sighed. The vulnerable, honest Draco Malfoy he had seen for a few minutes was gone, and the sarcastic, resentful boy he had known for seven years was back. With a sad smile, Harry turned to the Pensieve.

"You'd be surprised."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Shortish chapter and maybe not the most interesting, cos all the memories are copied straight from the books, but they had to be really because it's Harry and all his memories _are_ in the books. Hopefully I showed them from a slightly different angle, as a much older and more mature Harry looking back at them. As usual, please review! :)**

Chapter Six

The moment Harry landed, he knew it was his turn, and he knew what memory he was about to relive. They were all standing in a small clearing, surrounded by tall hedges. A few metres away lay an enormous spider, and beyond that stood Harry and Cedric Diggory, arguing.

"Just take the Cup!" Harry heard himself say.

"No," Cedric said, walking towards Harry, "Go on." The memory Harry looked from Cedric to the Cup.

"Just take it!" the present-day Harry muttered, knowing it was pointless, but wishing it wasn't.

"Both of us," Harry finally decided.

"What?"

"We'll take it at the same time. It's still a Hogwarts victory. We'll tie for it."

"You – you sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah … we've helped each other out, haven't we? We both got here. Let's just take it together."

"You're on. Come here."

The present-day Harry turned away as the two boys grasped the Cup and disappeared. To his relief, they weren't shown the next part of the memory. Instead, everything faded.

* * *

Now they were in the Forbidden Forest. Peering through the trees, Harry spotted six people, arguing loudly.

"I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Philosopher's Stone," a fourteen-year-old Ginny was saying angrily, "and it's because of me that Malfoy's stuck back in Umbridge's office with giant flying bogies attacking him –"

"Yeah, but –"

"We were all in the DA together," Neville said quietly, displaying a little of that firm confidence that would later make him the leader of the DA, and of the rebellion against the Carrows, "It was all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn't it? And this is the first chance we've had to do something real – or was that all just a game or something?"

"No – of course it wasn't –" Harry watched himself flounder helplessly as Neville, Ginny and Luna gradually wore him down. Finally, they all clambered onto Thestrals, which he was sure were no longer invisible to any of his friends, though they had been at the time, and fly away into the darkness, unaware that they were making a terrible mistake.

* * *

The Entrance Hall. Students bustled to and fro, obviously on their way out of the Great Hall after lunch. Among the crowds of people, it took Harry a moment to find himself, a similar age to the last memory, standing with Ron and Hermione and talking to Zacharias Smith. He moved closer, just in time to hear Smith say loudly, "You take _remedial Potions_? Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn't usually give extra lessons, does he?"

"Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here," Ron said as Smith strode off.

"Forget it," Harry – the younger – replied, "It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup– "

"Hi, Harry," Cho said, appearing at Harry's side.

"Oh. Hi."

"We'll be in the library, Harry," Hermione said, dragging Ron away. Harry and Cho began to chat, but the older Harry was no longer listening. He didn't need to hear himself ask Cho out, knowing already that the date would go terribly, and that the entire relationship was doomed to failure. Instead, his attention was fixed on someone else, someone he had barely registered at the time due to being entirely focused on Cho, but who never failed to come to mind when he remembered his first girlfriend.

Ginny. At fourteen, she was already growing into a stunning young woman; though he was sure as a fifteen-year-old he hadn't noticed that. He hadn't really noticed her at all back then. But there she was in his memory, sitting on the stairs about half a metre away, and pretending to rummage in her bag, though she could clearly hear the entire conversation. Her long red hair swung like a curtain over her face, but he was sure he could make out tears of frustration sparkling in those stunning brown eyes.

Suddenly, fifteen-year-old Harry ran past, knocking into her slightly, but not noticing in his hurry to catch Cho. A couple of books fell from her hands, and Harry wanted to leap forward and pick them up for her, as his younger self had been too preoccupied to do, but instead was forced to watch as she stooped to get them herself. As she straightened back up, she brushed the tears away, a look of steely determination on her face. Not sparing Harry and Cho another glance, she strode off in the opposite direction, and Harry watched her go with regret, as his younger self, standing half way up the staircase, watched Cho Chang walk away with a much happier expression on his face. What an idiot he'd been.

* * *

And then the memories were over and they were back in the office. Everyone was looking at Harry.

"You know, Cho's not _that _bad, Harry," Hannah said.

"Yeah," Neville agreed, "I didn't know you regretted going out with her _that _much. I mean, maybe you two weren't really right for each other, but …" he tailed off, implying that he thought that after everything that had happened, regretting a tiny thing like that was a bit ridiculous.

"I don't, really," Harry said, "Regret going out with her, I mean. She's a lovely person, even if her and me didn't work out. I just regret … not seeing that there was someone a million times better right in front of me the whole time. It took me so long to figure that out, and I wish I'd seen it a bit sooner, instead of wasting my time on someone I was never meant to be with." He glanced at Ginny, but she looked away. Harry sighed. He couldn't believe he was being so honest, and just spilling all his deepest thoughts to everyone. Then again, they were all doing that at the moment. There was something about having people witness your biggest regrets that made you less inclined to keep secrets.

"What about the first memory?" Astoria asked. Harry looked at her, surprised.

"I thought that one was obvious," he said, "If I hadn't let Cedric touch the Cup at the same time as me, he wouldn't have come to the graveyard and he'd never have died. I should have just taken it myself. I'd have looked like a selfish git for taking the Cup when he was the one who earned it, and he wouldn't have won the Triwizard Tournament, but he'd have been alive."

"Yeah, because heaven forbid the great Harry Potter should let someone _else_ come with him when he fights Voldemort," Ginny said bitterly, "I suppose that was what you regretted about the second memory? Letting me, Luna and Neville come with you? I suppose if it had just been you, Ron and Hermione, as usual, you'd have been in and out of there in three minutes, defeating all the Death Eaters single-handedly and managing to retrieve the Prophecy as well?"

"No," Harry replied quietly, "If it had just been me, Ron and Hermione we would probably all have _died_ within about three minutes. The three of you were _brilliant_ and I'm sorry I underestimated you so much." Ginny looked surprised.

"So what _did_ you regret about that memory?"

"Going at all. If we'd just stayed at Hogwarts … Sirius would still be alive. It was my fault he died." Harry admitted, and Ginny's face softened.

"Oh," she said gently, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to blow up at you again. I … I'm sorry. I'm being unreasonable. And … that memory with Cho … I'm really touched … I …" she didn't finish, but she didn't need to. Harry understood. He was forgiven, or at least partly forgiven. There was still a long way to go before he and Ginny could go back to the way they had been in sixth year, but this was a start.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Not too keen on this chapter - don't think I did my favourite couple justice. Here it is, however. Enjoy!**

Chapter Seven

Harry's memories were discussed for a few more minutes, much to his discomfort, before everyone once more turned to the Pensieve. They were halfway through the group now, and the difference between those who had already had their turn and those who hadn't was obvious. Those whose memories had already been seen looked relaxed, as though some great weight had been lifted from them, while those who were still to go had anxiety written clearly all over their faces. Well, Ron, Hermione and Neville looked nervous anyway. Astoria was as calm as she'd been the whole time. She didn't seem to Harry like a girl two years younger than them and still at school, but like an adult who knew things none of them ever would. She puzzled him. _Her_ memories would certainly be interesting to see.

* * *

Diving into the Pensieve, the group found themselves in the corridors of Hogwarts once again. The corridor was packed, with people pouring out of doorways and up and down hallways to their next class. Harry spotted himself, looking very young, pushing through the crowds of people, accompanied by Ron, who was clearly in a very bad mood.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron was saying angrily, "She's a nightmare, honestly." Just at that moment, Hermione pushed past the two boys, tears running down her cheeks. Harry turned to the older Ron. His younger self merely looked slightly uncomfortable, but this Ron was bright red and stared at his feet.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he mumbled, "I never did apologise for that." She laughed, though Harry sensed there was something else beneath the laughter, a hurt that had lasted, even from first year.

"That's okay," she said lightly, too lightly, slipping her arm around his waist, "You were a bit of a prat in first year. Still are, for that matter."

It was his turn to laugh now.

"I'd like to think I've grown up a bit since then," he said.

"Well …" she laughed again, "Maybe a tiny bit."

* * *

Unnoticed by the group, the scene had changed. Ron was just bursting into a classroom, hand-in-hand with Lavender. The two of them were laughing, but they stopped immediately when they spotted Hermione sitting on the teacher's desk, a small ring of birds fluttering around her head, Harry standing awkwardly beside her.

"Oops!" Lavender giggled, backing out of the room.

"Hi, Harry!" Ron said, after a moment of silence, "Wondered where you'd got to!" Hermione slid off the desk and begun to walk towards the door, the birds still circling her head.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said calmly, "She'll wonder where you've gone." Harry turned to see the present-day Ron and Hermione, hearing behind him the shrieked "_Oppugno!" _and knowing Ron was being attacked by a small flock of yellow birds. She no longer had her arm around his waist, and he looked very, very awkward. Tears were sparkling in her eyes, and when Ron went to comfort her she jerked away, going instead to stand beside Ginny, who glared at him reproachfully. Harry sighed. He thought the two of them had got over this.

* * *

The next memory was by far the worst, as Harry knew it would be from the moment he found himself in that very familiar tent he had spent an entire year in while searching for Horcruxes. Rain was pounding down outside and Harry and Ron were standing in the middle of the tent, yelling at each other, while Hermione watched, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Didn't you hear what they said about my sister?" Ron was shouting, "But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry _I've-Faced-Worse _Potter doesn't care what happens to her in here, well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff –"

"I was only saying – she was with the others, they were with Hagrid –"

"– yeah, I get it, you don't care! And what about the rest of my family, 'the Weasleys don't need another kid injured", did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I –" Harry watched himself and Hermione argue pointlessly with Ron, who was being so unreasonable there was no way they would ever get through to him. But now, no longer blinded by the anger and frustration that had controlled him at the time, he wondered whether Ron really _had _been so unreasonable. Yes, he had said some pretty spiteful and irrational things, but any anger Harry had once felt towards Ron for leaving was long gone, and he felt a little ashamed of how incapable he had been of even _trying _to understand how Ron felt.

"_Protego!_" Hermione yelled as the argument became even more heated and Ron and Harry drew their wands.

"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said and Ron threw it onto a chair.

"What are you doing?" he asked Hermione.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you staying or what?"

"I … Yes – yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help –"

"I get it. You choose him."

"Ron, no – please – come back, come back!"

Ron was already storming out of the tent and the group followed him, knowing they had to stay with him to stay in the memory. Hermione ran after him, sobbing and yelling his name, but he ignored her, walking further and further into the dark forest before disappearing with a loud CRACK.

* * *

And then they were back in the office and everyone was looking at Ron, aghast.

"You _left_?" Ginny said incredulously, "Harry I-don't-need-any-help Potter actually let you come with him and you _left_? And what was that stupid argument about me? Harry was right; of _course_ I can survive a few hours in the Forbidden Forest!"

"Ginny, he was just –" Harry began, but she ignored him.

"The whole time I was sitting at Hogwarts or at home, wishing I knew where Harry was, wishing I could be there to help him, do you know the _one_ thing that kept me going? The fact that I knew you and Hermione were with him, and that you'd always managed to keep him safe before. Well, relatively safe anyway. Alive, at the very least. He _needed_ you, and you just walked out and left him! How could you –"

"_Ginny_," Harry said, more forcefully this time, and she turned to him, "Ginny, he _came back_. He came back the moment it was possible to, and he saved my life. You have no idea what it was like, staying in that tent, never seeing anyone else, not having a clue where we were going or what we were doing, and it was worst for Ron."

"_Why_?" she demanded, "Why was it worst for Ron?" Harry looked at Ron, silently asking permission to tell them about the Horcrux. He shook his head vehemently. The rest of the group watched this silent communication curiously.

"What does it matter?" Hermione said quietly. The tears were gone, her voice was steady and her eyes burned fiercely, "What does it matter _why _he left? He did, and that's all there is to say. I think it's time we moved on to the next set of memories."

"Hermione, I –" Ron began, but she strode past him towards the Pensieve, and then turned to look back at the others.

"Well? Are you coming?"

* * *

They were in the Gryffindor common room. Draco, Astoria and Hannah looked around with interest – having never been in there before – while Harry tried to decide whose memory it was. If they were a Gryffindor then that made it either Neville's or Hermione's, but currently he couldn't see either of them. One person he could see however was Ron, though he was wrapped so tightly around Lavender Brown that it was hard to tell how much of it was actually Ron. Sixth year, then.

He scanned the common room for any sign of Hermione or Neville, and suddenly spotted Hermione, sitting very low in an armchair by the fire, watching Ron and Lavender with a look of absolute disgust.

There was a sudden upsurge in noise as Cormac McLaggen walked into the room, talking very loudly about something. Hermione stood up, hesitated for a moment, glanced at Ron, who still hadn't untangled himself from Lavender, and walked confidently up to McLaggen.

"Hey, Cormac," she said sweetly, and he stopped talking instantly and turned to her, abandoning the little cluster of girls to whom he had been giving a detailed description of the time he had gone hunting with Rufus Scrimgeour.

"Hi, Hermione," he smiled.

"So I was wondering whether you have a date for Slughorn's party yet?" she asked. He stared at her, unable to believe his luck, then recovered himself and grinned cockily.

"Well, no, I haven't yet. I was hoping _you _might go with me. The prettiest girl in Gryffindor and … well … _me_ would make quite a striking couple, don't you think?" Harry could see Hermione trying very hard not to roll her eyes, but with great difficulty she restrained herself and simply giggled, pretending to be flattered by the compliment.

"So I'll meet you here at eight o'clock before the party then?" she said, and he nodded.

"But don't you want to hang out for a bit this evening?" he asked as she turned to leave, "You know – get to know each other a bit." He grinned suggestively and she looked him up and down, clearly trying to decide how far she would go for revenge.

"No, not particularly," she said coldly and strode away, leaving a disappointed-looking McLaggen in her wake.

* * *

That scene faded and they were once more in the tent Harry had come to hate so much. He braced himself, expecting another awful memory with people yelling at each other, but instead simply saw himself and Hermione, talking quietly.

"I've been thinking," Harry was saying, "I – I want to go to Godric's hollow."

"Yes," Hermione replied, "Yes, I've been wondering that too. I really think we'll have to."

"Did you hear me right?"

"Of course I did. You want to go to Godric's Hollow. I agree, I think we should. I mean, I can't think of anywhere else it could be, either. It'll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it's there."

The two of them continued to talk, Hermione coming up with endless justifications for going to Godric's Hollow and Harry simply agreeing with her, unable to believe how easily she was agreeing to what he wanted to do. Even at the time, he had never quite bought her theory, and he knew that if the two of them had though about it a little more carefully they would never have gone, but they hadn't. They'd been so eager to do _something_, anything, that they'd jumped into it, not stopping to think it through.

* * *

The memory faded and they were standing in the office again, looking at each other.

"What I don't understand," said Astoria after a long moment, "is why you regret going to the Christmas party with McLaggen, but not going to the Yule Ball with Krum." Hermione looked at her in surprise.

"How did you know about Krum?" she asked, "You were only in second year; you can't have been at the Yule Ball." Astoria smiled at her, a little pityingly.

"Hermione, _everyone _knew about you and Krum. _He_ was an international Quidditch player, and _you _were the girl who was supposed to be going to the Ball with Ron Weasley."

"No I wasn't!" she exclaimed, "We never agreed to anything, it was only fourth year, Ron and I didn't even like each other in that way back in fourth year –"

"Yes you did. You were just a _tiny _bit better at disguising it back then. Everyone's always known you were going to end up together. You were like Harry and Ginny, and Cho and Cedric, and Angelina and one of the Weasley twins. We all knew you'd figure it out eventually, it was just a matter of time. There were even _bets_ as to what year you'd finally get together. Most people thought it would happen a lot sooner than it did, though. The two of you are obviously just a lot more stupid than people gave you credit for."

"Oh," Hermione looked a little surprised at this new information, though she didn't seem particularly affronted by being called stupid. Perhaps she realised that, when it came to Ron, she _was_ a little stupid.

"Ummm … well, in answer to your question," she said, "I don't regret going with Krum because I actually _liked_ him, and I had a really great time. I just went with McLaggen to – to make Ron jealous. And it wasn't worth it at all. I spent three minutes in his company and he struck me as an arrogant, self-centred jerk."

"What happened at Godric's Hollow?" Neville asked, changing the subject completely. Hermione turned to him.

"What?"

"You regret going to Godric's Hollow. What happened there?"

"Harry got attacked by Nagini – Voldemort's giant snake – and his wand got destroyed and –"

"– and Hermione saved my life," Harry finished, "It wasn't your fault, Hermione. It was only thanks to you that we didn't go there any sooner."

"Exactly," she said, "I _knew_ we shouldn't go there. _I _was supposed to be the sensible one. _I _was supposed to keep us safe, and talk you out of doing anything stupid. But I just ignored _all _my instincts and went anyway. I can't _believe _I –"

"Hermione," Ginny cut across her, "You were doing your best. At least you were _there_," she threw Ron a dirty look, "and there was no harm done, so stop worrying about it. And as for the first memory, I think from what we've seen of my brother's memories, he certainly deserved it."

"Yeah," Ron said quietly, "Yeah, I did." The girls didn't look at him. Hermione sighed.

"You're right, Ginny, thanks," then she brightened, "So, who's next I wonder?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm sorry for the late update - I kind of forgot about this story a little bit because I was working on another one. Thank you to Loonaticslover13 for reviewing and reminding me that this story still exists! **

**I also apologise for the shortish chapter. I was going to put Astoria in this chapter too, but wasn't quite sure how I'm going to do her memories yet, so she will have to wait.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter Eight

They were in the greenhouses in the middle of a Herbology class. Scanning the class, Harry quickly spotted himself, Ron and Hermione and then, not far away, Neville, Hannah and Ernie. So it was Neville's memory.

"That's it for today, class," Professor Sprout said brightly, and everyone began to pack up. Neville hung back a little, talking to Professor Sprout, and Harry could see Hannah waving Ernie on and waiting for Neville to finish his conversation. Finally he smiled, thanked Professor Sprout for her help, and joined Hannah. They began to walk slowly up towards the castle, chatting carelessly about various inconsequential topics. Neville seemed more relaxed than he had seemed most of the time in fourth year – which was what Harry judged it to be – talking confidently and laughing as Hannah complimented his skill at Herbology. In fact, he seemed suddenly recognisable as the Neville Harry knew now, sure of himself and not in any way nervous. The real Neville.

"So the Yule Ball's in a couple of weeks," Hannah said casually.

"Yeah," Neville replied.

"You got a date yet?"

"Well, actually I … no, I don't."

"No, me neither."

"Oh, okay. So have you done the Potions homework yet?"

Harry listened to this conversation in confusion, wondering when they would get to the important part of the memory. Just as he thought this, however, the scene faded.

* * *

They were now inside Hogwarts. Neville was striding very quickly down a corridor, a couple of people hurrying to keep up with him, all talking very fast.

"Are we going to do more graffiti tonight?" one of them – Anthony Goldstein, Harry thought it was – asked.

"And what about those poor first years?" another asked.

"But we can't –" another began, but Neville raised a hand, cutting them off.

"Not graffiti," he decided, "And I know for a fact that the Carrows are planning to keep watch at the entrance to Gryffindor tower, so if we're going to do something about the first years then it should really be people from another house."

"I'll do it," Anthony Goldstein offered immediately.

"And me," Michael Corner agreed. Neville stopped walking and looked at them both. Harry could see indecision written all over his face. He seemed reluctant to let them do something without him there to oversee it.

"Come on, Neville," Michael wheedled, "We have to do _something_. We can't leave those poor first years chained up for the whole week. And it'll be a great boost to everyone's morale if they can see that we're still doing stuff to help people."

"Oh, alright," Neville agreed reluctantly, "But be _careful_!" he yelled after them as they walked away, already deep in discussion about their plans for the rescue.

* * *

Then they were all back in the office. Neville wasn't crying, nor did he look overly distressed, but there was a heavy look in his eyes, as though he carried the whole world on his shoulders, and Harry suddenly got an idea of how hard it must have been for Neville that last year at Hogwarts. Yes, the entire fate of the wizarding world had been in _his_ hands, while Neville had only been responsible for the members of the DA, and maybe to a certain extent the other pupils at Hogwarts, but Neville's job seemed a lot harder. Harry hadn't been able to _see_ the effects of his decisions. He'd been isolated from it all. Neville, on the other hand, had known that one bad decision could see his friends and classmates tortured, or even killed. The realisation gave Harry a new respect for Neville; his once-pathetic classmate now seemed the greatest hero of them all.

When Harry's thought returned to the present conversation, Neville was just finishing explaining the second memory, and the way Michael Corner had been caught helping one of the first years – unlike Anthony Goldstein, who'd made it away in time – and had been tortured so severely he could barely stand up for several days.

"It wasn't your fault, Neville," Hannah said softly, taking hold of Neville's arm, "Michael knew what he was letting himself in for. He knew there was a risk, and chose to do it anyway. And that particular rescue mission may not have gone well, but so many of them did. You have no idea how much you did for us all during that year. You made us feel like we could make a difference; like we really _could_ fight back. You gave us hope – in a far more real way than the knowledge that Harry, Ron and Hermione were out there somewhere, or that the Order were fighting back, did – and that alone makes up for one tiny mistake you may have made." Neville looked down at her, and something in his eyes cleared.

"Thanks, Hannah," he said quietly.

"What about the first memory?" Ron asked after a moment, breaking the silence that had descended on the room. Blushing a little, Neville appeared to suddenly become aware of Hannah holding onto his arm, and drew away, awkwardly averting his eyes from her face. He didn't answer the question, and Ron still looked confused, but Harry realised suddenly that he didn't need Neville's reply. He already knew _exactly _what that memory had been about.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

When they next dived into the Pensieve, they found themselves in the Slytherin Common Room. Astoria was the only one left, so this was clearly her memory, and Harry was curious as to what it might turn out to be. Of all the people in the group, he felt he knew her the least. She was a strange, slightly mysterious person, and he found himself a little excited at the thought of discovering a little more about her.

As he looked around, however, he couldn't immediately find Astoria. Instead, he saw only and empty, dark room. It seemed to be the middle of the night, and the common room was deserted.

Or so he thought at first. After a moment, however, the sound of quiet sobs reached his ears and he peered through the darkness, searching for the source. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted a figure on one of the couches, head in their hands, posture one of absolute desperation. This certainly wasn't Astoria, and as Harry took a step closer he realised with surprise that it was in fact Draco Malfoy. There was a certain air of despondency about Draco, highly reminiscent of the way he had appeared when Harry had seen him in the boys' bathroom in sixth year, that left Harry in no doubt that this was the same year.

This was Astoria's memory, and so Astoria must be in it somewhere. Casting his eyes around the shadowy common room, Harry suddenly spotted her, walking down a staircase into the common room. Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she seemed to hear the sobbing and stopped short, surprise written all over her face. Like Harry, she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and to make out Draco's figure on the couch. She appeared to recognise him immediately – though he was still completely oblivious to her presence – and her face softened, her eyes expressing a deep anguish and pity for the helpless, hopeless boy before. Acting, so it seemed, purely on instinct, she took a step towards him, opening her mouth to say something, but then she stopped herself. Hovering at the bottom of the staircase, still unnoticed by Draco, indecision flickered over her face. For a moment she seemed almost resolved to go and speak to him, but then she turned away, retreating quietly back up the stairs, glancing back regretfully once or twice, and disappeared into the dormitories beyond.

* * *

Just as Harry prepared for the next memory to appear, he realised there _was_ no next memory. That was it, and they were back in the office. Standing in a circle around the Pensieve, everyone glanced between Astoria and Draco, as confused as Harry about the abrupt end. _Nobody_ had had less than two memories. Surely that couldn't be it?

"Only one regret?" Ron voiced what everyone was thinking, "You only have one regret from your entire life?"

"Well, I've regretted other things," Astoria said, "I've regretted leaving my homework too late, or fighting with friends, or other trivial things like that. But they're all things that were resolved eventually, and that didn't have any long-term repercussions. And they all seemed a bit trivial compared to what happened in the War. But I've always wondered," she turned to Draco, addressing her next words to him, "whether I could have helped you at all, if I'd gone over to you that night. I'd heard rumours – some of which weren't far from the truth – about what you had to do that year, and I knew you needed an actual friend to be there for you through that. Because my sister and Theo and all the rest of them pretty much ditched you that year, and I wish I'd been braver than them, and that I'd tried to help you." Draco didn't answer; he seemed too shocked to say a word. Harry got the feeling no one had ever expressed a genuine wish to be there for him before, and suddenly felt a little guilty himself for how hard he'd been on Draco that year.

"But if you _had _gone and talked to him," Hermione began slowly, "and he'd accepted it, and had asked you to help him kill Dumbledore, would you have done it?"

"Yes," Astoria replied immediately, and Ginny looked at her in surprise.

"But you didn't _want_ Voldemort to win," she said.

"How do _you _know she didn't want him to win, Ginny?" Ron asked, "She's a Slytherin, after all." Ginny looked at Ron like he was a complete idiot, which probably wasn't far off the truth, though at this particular moment Harry had to admit he agreed with Ron.

"Because she was a member of the DA," Ginny said slowly, "Not in a very obvious way – with all the graffiti and sabotaging detentions and standing up to the Carrows – but in a more subtle way. Most of the DA didn't even know, but we had quite a few Slytherin members by the end of the year. They generally attempted to suck up to the Carrows, and to gather as much information as possible for us. Astoria was also highly involved with a group of Slytherins who offered to practice the Cruciatus Curse on those who had earned detention, and who would then only pretend they had actually done so. They were invaluable to us, and Astoria particularly so. What I don't understand is why she would do all that – clearly proving her loyalty to us – and yet be willing to help Draco kill Dumbledore. Unless you changed your mind?" Astoria, who had been listening to this little speech with something like amusement playing across her face, smiled a little.

"What you Gryffindors – and even Hufflepuffs – don't understand is how complex a concept loyalty really is," she began conversationally, "You have a very simplified idea of it, in which people pick a side and defend it to the death. And I suppose that Gryffindors are, as a general rule, more inclined towards that form of loyalty. Us Slytherins are a little different, however. We are generally loyal to _people_, not to a side. And it often takes a lot to win our loyalty, but once you have it you have it forever. I've never felt any particular loyalty towards Dumbledore, but I _am_ loyal to Draco, so of course I'd have helped him, if that were what he needed me to do. And I joined the DA because I felt a certain loyalty towards my fellow students, as well as for selfish reasons. I knew I'd rather live in freedom than under Voldemort's rule, so it made sense to pick the side that could get me that. Then, once I'd been a part of the DA for a while, I started to develop a certain loyalty towards certain members of it. Luna, in particular, because she never judged me because I was a Slytherin, and you too, Neville. I've seen the sacrifices you're willing to make for others, and I admire you for that. You accepted me into your group, in spite of the risk I could pose if I decided to betray you, and put your faith in me completely. I don't think I've ever been trusted like that by anyone before. So by the end of the year I'd probably have done anything for the DA, and in fact I did manage to sneak back in and join the battle. So yes, I _was_ loyal to the DA, though not necessarily to the Order or to Harry Potter, but I would still have helped kill Dumbledore. Does that make any more sense?" The group stared at her as she finished, trying to understand what she meant. Harry thought he did. He had seen instances of such complex Slytherin loyalty before: Snape switching sides without a second thought in order to help Lily, Narcissa lying to Voldemort for the sake of her son, Draco refusing to identify him in Malfoy Manor when commanded to by his father.

"Yes," Harry said, "That _does_ make sense." Then he addressed the rest of the group, "Well, that's everyone. And it's been a long day, so we should all get some sleep now. Hopefully in the morning we'll have more news of how the rescue mission's going, or perhaps even some food."

At the mention of food – for no one had eaten in about two days now – the mood brightened a little and everyone spread out around the room, preparing to go to sleep. The atmosphere was a little different to what it had been last night, less tense. Every single member of the group had now had their deepest regrets and failures displayed for everyone to see, and sharing something like that had a way of bringing people together. Not that Malfoy was cuddled up with the others, or that everyone was suddenly best friends – in fact, Ron and Hermione were no longer lying together, and were instead several metres apart – but there was less hatred, less hostility in general. Harry could see Neville and Hannah talking quietly in one corner for a little while, before quickly falling asleep, Hannah's head on Neville's chest, Neville's arm around Hannah's shoulders. Hermione was now sleeping next to Ginny and Ron a little way away, but Harry had no doubt that would be sorted out soon enough. Seeing how cold she was, Harry once again spread his coat over Ginny, and this time she didn't throw it off, but smiled drowsily up at him, mumbling her thanks before drifting into sleep. Malfoy was curled up on his own, his back to Harry so it was unclear whether he was asleep or not, but Astoria was sitting against a wall, very much alert. Knowing he would be unable to sleep yet, Harry decided to go and talk to her.

"Can't sleep either?" she asked as he sat down next to her.

"Too much going through my mind, I guess," he replied.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It's funny, finding out all these things about people. Of course, I knew most of Draco's already, and bits of Hannah's, Neville's and Ginny's, but you Ron and Hermione have always been a bit of a mystery to me. Who knew that the great Harry Potter had so many regrets."

"_You're _the mystery," Harry said, "Only one regret? And you were a member of the DA, not to mention your strange loyalty to Draco Malfoy. You're a strange person, Astoria Greengrass."

"Am I? Perhaps if you knew the motive behind almost every single thing I do then you wouldn't think so."

"Only one motive? What happened to your multiple loyalties to different people? Don't they give you at least a few different motives?"

"Perhaps, but there's a single motive that comes before every single one of my other loyalties."

"Would you care to share it?"

"Can I trust you?"

"I don't know. Can you?"

"Perhaps. Luna would tell me I could."

"Would she?"

"Yes, she would. And I'm inclined to think she's right. You strike me as a trustworthy person, and not quite as slow as Luna made you out to be." Harry decided not to bother being offended.

"So you're going to tell me?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes I am. Because I don't think you'll judge me for the fact that I didn't join the DA out of any loyalty to Hogwarts, or to the other students. I didn't refrain from torturing first and second years out of sympathy for them, or through some sort of conscience. And don't get me wrong, by the end of the year I would have followed Neville to the ends of the earth in order to save Hogwarts, but that wasn't my motivation for joining. I joined for _him_." She jerked her head towards the other end of the room, where Draco was curled up on the stone floor, deeply asleep. Harry stared at her, confused.

"For him? But why? I mean, I know you two are friends or whatever, but why would you do that for him? And how could joining the DA help him?" Astoria rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Luna was right; you _are _slow. I'm in _love _with him."

"You're _what_?"

"In love with him. Is that so hard to believe? Why else would the biggest regret of my life be not helping him? Why else would I have watched him fall apart throughout his sixth and seventh years, hating myself for not being able to do anything to help him? Why else would I have risked everything to join the DA, in the desperate hope that I could do something to save him?"

"But the DA was working _against _the Death Eaters. They were on a completely different side."

"Again with this Gryffindor idea of _sides_ and exclusive loyalty! Yes, Draco was a Death Eater, but that didn't mean his loyalty lay with them, and mine _certainly _didn't. I know the way Voldemort treated his followers. He would keep them around as long as they were useful to him, but the moment they weren't he would dispose of them. And Draco wasn't going to be useful indefinitely. As it was, the most useful thing about him was probably the way Voldemort could use him to control his father. Perhaps Voldemort even thought that one day Draco would become a more devoted, more useful follower, but in fact the opposite was true. I know Draco better than most people – better than he knows himself probably – and I can tell you he will never, _ever _be a killer. So eventually he'd have been killed. Or if not he'd have spent the rest of his life living in constant fear and slavery. So it was better that you lot win. Even Azkaban would have been better for him than the alternative, and I know he would probably have agreed."

"So everything you did was for him?"

"Pretty much."

"That makes sense."

"Really," she looked surprised, "I didn't think you'd understand that. Don't you Gryffindors like to think of the greater good, as well as individuals? You must, because otherwise you'd have grabbed Ginny and your friends and left the country, or just gone into hiding with them, not left Ginny to fend for herself while you went on some quest to save everyone else."

"Yeah, I guess that's what _I _tend to do, but you're a Slytherin, and this isn't the first time I've seen the sacrifices a Slytherin will make for love."

"Oh." She looked curious now, but Harry didn't expand. That wasn't a story the whole world needed to know yet.

He and Astoria chatted for a little while longer, discussing various light topics, as well as deeper issues, such as the War and people's memories. Astoria talked confidently, seemingly unfazed by Harry's status as saviour of the wizarding world. This was a relief after the hero-worship he had been subjected to recently, and reminded him a little of Luna, and her way of basing her judgements purely on what was in front of her, rather than on rumours and stereotypes and previous actions. There were a lot of similarities between Luna and Astoria, now he came to think of it, but while Luna was outwardly very strange and conspicuous – hiding the inner wisdom until you knew her a little better – Astoria presented the image of a very ordinary, unremarkable person – again hiding a far more interesting, intelligent personality.

After talking for a while, the two decided to go to sleep. Just as he was drifting into sleep, however, Astoria said, so quietly that Harry – in his drowsy, half-conscious state – couldn't be sure she'd said it at all, "It's not finished with us yet. The Pensieve. It's only just getting started."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

When Harry woke the next morning, it was to the most wonderful sight he had seen since the beginning of this catastrophic endeavour. Just beside the remains of Dumbledore's old desk, sat an enormous pile of food. Pumpkin pasties, sandwiches, pies, sausage rolls, cakes, bread rolls: it was all piled high – enough food to last them several days at least. Professor McGonagall really had outdone herself.

Glancing around and seeing that he was the first to wake up, Harry stood up and walked over to the pile of food, wondering whether he should wake everyone up and give them the good news, or let them sleep a little longer. Just as he was deciding to give them another half an hour or so, he spotted a scroll of parchment, addressed to _Harry Potter_. Unrolling it he read:

_Harry, _

_I sincerely hope this has reached you. It's highly complicated magic – so don't, under any circumstance, attempt it yourselves in order to reply to me – and I have no idea whether it is really working. If you are reading this then it obviously has, hopefully with the food. We're fairly sure it's going to be another week or so at least before we can reach you, so I will send more food in a few days. _

_I am aware this is far from the easiest of situations for you, and apologise for insisting on placing you in charge of such a … difficult group. Had I been aware this was going to happen I would of course have aimed to make things a little easier for you. Had I been aware this was going to happen, I would never have sent you in there at all, in fact. Try to keep everyone as calm as possible under the circumstances, and avoid allowing them to fall out, though I understand that may be difficult, considering the collection of people you are with. Rest assured, we are doing everything in our power to get you out of there as soon as possible._

_Yours, Minerva McGonagall_

Harry smiled, stowing the letter away in his pocket. He knew what Professor McGonagall must be imagining – the eight of them cooped up together, tempers rising, fights erupting, Harry struggling to keep control, chaos ensuing – and he could understand why. It's what he would have imagined himself, had he been told this was going to happen. But strangely, that wasn't what was happening at all. If anything, this strange and unfortunate experience seemed to be – if not exactly drawing them closer together – then at least helping them to see things from each other's point of view a little more. And the answer to this unexpected outcome was none other than the Pensieve sitting in the centre of the room.

Turning to look at the Pensieve, Harry found himself unsurprised to see that it was once again glowing invitingly. So Astoria had been right. It wasn't finished with them yet.

Soon enough, everyone began to wake up, stirring sleepily and yawning. One by one, they spotted the food, wide grins spreading across their faces. It was funny how, no matter how different they were, everyone reacted in the same way to a large pile of food when they were hungry. Harry insisted that they wait for everyone to wake up and eat together, hoping it would reinforce the sense of group spirit he could feel building. In reality, all it did was prompt everyone to be as loud as possible in order to wake up the last few people. Soon, however, they were all awake and devouring the food like they hadn't eaten in months.

It wasn't long before they were finished, and turned their attention to the glowing Pensieve. Astoria gave Harry a look like "What did I say?" but she wasn't the only one who seemed unsurprised by the Pensieve's appearance. It was as though everyone, on some deeper level, had known they weren't finished yet.

"Shall we see what it is now, then?" Astoria asked, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, stepping forwards, "Come on."

* * *

They were in a dark chamber, one Harry recognised immediately.

"The Chamber of Secrets," he said softly, and Hannah gasped loudly. Looking around, he could see no sign of himself, the basilisk or Tom Riddle, but out of the shadows walked Ginny, twelve years old and clutching a small, black diary, a vacant look in her eyes. She stood for a moment, apparently completely unaware of where she was. Then something in her face changed; she seemed to become herself again. With a start she noticed where she was, and realisation dawned on her face as to where she was. She panicked, dropped the diary as though it had burned her and began to scream. The sound pierced Harry's heart, and he wanted to run to her and hold her tight and tell her it was all going to be okay. Instead, he did the next best thing, and turned to the real Ginny, who was very pale. Gently, he put his arm around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Suddenly, Tom Riddle appeared at the other end of the chamber, walking slowly towards Ginny. She pointed a figure accusingly at him.

"It was you … you made me do all those things … I don't understand … what am I doing here? Where am I?" Riddle sneered.

"Yes, I made you do all those things, and it was all too easy, you silly little girl. Not that you ever stood a chance against _me_, the Heir of Slytherin." Ginny began to scream again, backing away from him. Then all the strength drained from her, and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Now Ginny was in her room, pacing up and down anxiously. From her windowsill, a radio blared loudly.

"_And now we are going to hear from Royal. Evening, Royal."_

"_Evening, River."_

"_So, Royal, what's the latest on the whereabouts of Harry Potter? There have been rumours he was involved in a break-in at the Ministry. Is there any truth in these rumours?"_

"_Yes, though the Ministry themselves have failed to mention it – for obvious reasons – we do have reason to believe the Ministry for Magic was broken into by Harry Potter, and possibly several other accomplices, in order to free several innocent witches and wizards accused of having 'stolen' their magic from others."_

"_Well, it's reassuring to know The Boy Who Lived is very much at work, making a stand against those pesky Death Eaters. That's assuming he made it out of the Ministry again, of course?"_

"_I believe he did, River, though it was a narrow escape. Perhaps he should avoid such daring rescues in the future."_

At this, Ginny collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her hands.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid_," she muttered, and Harry couldn't help but feel she may be referring to him. He hugged the real Ginny a little tighter, apologising slightly for the worry he had put her through, but wanting to protest that he had been at least as worried about her as she was about him.

* * *

The next scene was far too familiar; it had visited Harry often in his nightmares since the Battle of Hogwarts. The Great Hall was full of people, milling around or standing in little clusters, comforting one another. And in a row through the centre of the Hall lay the bodies of all those who had died fighting. Harry spotted Ginny immediately, wending her way through the people, scanning the Hall for her family. And then she saw them, standing in a little group around something. Paling, she ran towards them, shoving people carelessly out of her way until she reached them. They parted to reveal Fred's limp body, lying on the floor.

Staring in disbelief, she fell to her knees by him. Not a sound escaped her lips, but she may as well have been screaming; the anguish radiating off her was so tangible.

"No," she whispered, "No."

* * *

And just as Harry thought he could take more, the worst memory of them all began. They were outside the castle, and the Death Eaters were gathered around, laughing and looking very pleased with themselves. Opposite them stood the fighters of Hogwarts, bedraggled and exhausted. And there was Harry, limp in Hagrid's arms, and there was Ginny, standing absolutely still, staring in horror, and she opened her mouth and screamed his name, and it was one of the most terrible things Harry had ever heard, and it seemed to go on and on and on, tearing Harry apart.

* * *

Finally it was over, and they were back in the office. Harry's arms were still around Ginny and he hugged her tightly as her body racked with sobs, one of the few times he had ever seen her cry.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, "I'm so sorry. You can't imagine how terrible I feel for doing that to you."

"No," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, "It wasn't your fault. It was just that I thought I'd lost you, and I couldn't bear that. Because ever since you came for me that time in the Chamber of Secrets, you've been the person I could depend on to come for me every time. I was determined I would never be that little girl who needed rescuing ever again, that I'd be tough and independent and capable of saving myself. But I never really was. Because when I thought I'd lost you for good, I knew that I could only be tough and strong and independent when you were there. I need you, Harry." She dissolved into tears again, and Harry held her tight.

"You _are_ strong," he said quietly, "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met." They stood like that for a few minutes, the silence broken only by Ginny's sobs.

"So what is it this time?" Astoria said eventually, "What's the pattern?" Ginny looked up, smiling grimly.

"The worst moments," she said softly, "The worst moments of my life."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I sincerely apologise for the late update - I've been very busy lately. Unfortunately I can't promise that they'll get any more regular as I've got a lot of homework and stuff for school (for some reason, teachers don't really accept "I was writing fan fiction" as a valid excuse for not doing homework) but I'll do my best**

Chapter Eleven

The effect of Ginny's words was staggering. Hermione gave a little gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in distress; Neville paled slightly and took a step backwards; Hannah sat down very quickly, trembling. Everyone was affected, with even Astoria losing her usual unfazed demeanour and looking a little nervous, but the most dramatic reaction came from Draco.

"No," he whispered, backing away from the Pensieve, eyes flashing with fear, "No, I can't."

Harry had to admit he could understand these reactions. He hadn't been lying when he said Ginny was one of the strongest people he'd ever met, and if this could reduce her to helpless sobbing then what would it do to everyone else?

"We don't have to do this," he said, offering the group a chance to back out, "We can just ignore the Pensieve and find something else to occupy our time while we wait for rescue."

"But that wouldn't be fair on Ginny," Hermione said, "Since she's already done hers."

"We coped with going through the memories the first time round," pointed out Neville, "Surely we're strong enough to cope with an imitation of them?"

"And besides, we _can't _ignore the Pensieve. It's doing all this for a reason. We're _supposed_ to see the memories," Astoria stated matter-of-factly, as though that settled everything. Harry couldn't argue. He glanced worriedly at Draco, who was still very pale, and at Hannah, who looked very queasy, but decided he had no choice. It wasn't up to him, not really.

"Alright," he agreed, "Let's get this over with."

* * *

When they landed in the Gryffindor common room, right beside a sixteen-year-old Ron, Harry's immediate reaction was that it was Ron's memory. But that didn't make sense. Because Ron was very busy snogging the face off Lavender Brown, and as far as Harry knew Ron had always enjoyed that at least a little, except perhaps at the very end when he just wanted to be rid of her. Certainly it had never been bad enough to be classed as a worst memory ever.

That was when he spotted a slim, bushy-haired figure at the other side of the common room, and knew exactly whose memory it was. She was standing stock still, staring in shock at the entwined pair, tears spilling down her cheeks. The rest of the crowded common room seemed to fade away until only the three people were visible, Ron and Lavender oblivious to Hermione and her very much aware of them. Then she turned and fled the room, suppressing sobs that shook her body.

* * *

The next memory was exactly what Harry would have predicted it to be. He turned away, not needing to see it again. Ron yelled, Harry yelled, Ron yelled some more. Harry told Ron to leave, Ron asked Hermione to come with him, Hermione refused, Ron stormed out, Hermione begged Ron to come back, Ron disapparated. They had already seen the memory, and Harry knew this repeat was going to do nothing to mend the rift between Ron and Hermione.

* * *

The final memory was also a repeat and Harry felt he might have to see it a few more times before they were finished. It was the same as Ginny's last memory, in which everyone thought he was dead. The look on Hermione's face just about tore him apart. He couldn't count the number of times he had seen her cry since he'd met her, and particularly over the last few years, but in this memory she wasn't crying. It was as though she was too shocked to cry, too shocked to do anything but scream and scream and scream.

* * *

The screaming seemed to carry on even once they were back in the office, ringing around Harry's head, reminding him of the way he had hurt his friends. Realising his eyes were screwed shut, Harry opened them, pulling himself together and trying to be the strong leader they all needed right now. Hermione was trembling and Neville had his arms around her, whispering comfortingly in her ear. Harry glanced at Ron, expecting jealousy, but Ron looked almost as upset as Hermione. Following Neville's example, Hannah put her arms around Ron, giving him a comforting hug and whispering something very quietly. Whatever it was, it seemed to brighten him up a little, though he still looked awful. Eager to move on, Harry gestured everyone over to the Pensieve and they dived in again.

* * *

Harry recognised his own memory immediately. It had haunted him endlessly in the summer after fourth year: Cedric's death in the graveyard. Watching Cedric crumple to the ground, an insubstantial obstacle in the path of Lord Voldemort, he felt all the old regret and terror flooding back.

But that was only the beginning. The memories seemed to flash past very fast, and at the same time drag on into infinity. Horror struck, he saw every death he had ever witnessed, mourned and in many cases caused flash before his eyes. Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Dobby, Snape and Fred: they seemed to go on forever. He even saw the memory he had once witnessed through Voldemort's mind in which his parents died.

* * *

By the time the memories ended, Harry had his eyes tightly closed, blocking out all the deaths he still felt responsible for. Cautiously, he opened them again. Everyone was looking at him. Hermione was still fighting back tears, and Ginny looked a little shaken, but Hannah stepped forwards, taking his hands in hers.

"And I thought _I _had it hard, losing my mum," she said softly, her eyes gentle, "How on earth did you stay so strong? To lose so many people you loved…" she tailed off, unable to imagine what he'd been through. Harry swallowed. He wanted to say that he still had a lot of people he loved, and that without them he _wouldn't _have stayed strong at all, but somehow he couldn't quite put it onto words.

"But surely it's better to have all those people and lose them than never have them at all?" Draco asked quietly.

"Is it?" Harry replied.

"Yes, Neville said firmly, "Yes, it is." Harry smiled sadly. Yes, he supposed Neville and Draco were right. What was that saying? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Not too keen on this chapter but wanted to update before I go away for the next two weeks. Won't be updating while I'm on holiday (obviously) but will try to do so as soon as I get back.**

Chapter Twelve

When they dived into the Pensieve again, they were standing in one of the Hogwarts greenhouses, along with Harry's old Herbology class, probably in their fifth or sixth year. Harry could see Ron, Hermione and himself at the other side of the greenhouse, but closer to him stood Hannah, Ernie and some other Hufflepuffs. Hannah was giggling uncontrollably at something Ernie had said, very happy and carefree for a memory that was supposedly one of the worst in her life, and with a sinking feeling Harry realised what memory it might be.

Confirming his fears, Professor McGonagall pushed open the door of the greenhouse, a very sombre expression on her face. The class stopped what they were doing and stared, confused by the unprecedented interruption.

"If I could have a word with Miss Abbot?" she enquired, in a tone that broached no disagreement. Every eye in the class followed Hannah out of the door, and she looked highly uncomfortable as she followed Professor McGonagall across the grounds and into the castle. Once in McGonagall's office, she perched nervously on the edge of her seat.

"Miss Abbot," McGonagall said quietly, "I'm afraid I have some rather … terrible news for you."

"Yes, Professor?" Hannah looked even more nervous, but certainly in no way prepared McGonagall was about to say.

"Yesterday evening the Ministry received reports of the Dark Mark being sighted above your house. Aurors rushed to the scene immediately and … I'm so sorry Miss Abbot – Hannah … your mother is … your mother was found dead."

"But she can't be," Hannah spoke calmly and incredulously, as though merely pointing out a mistake in something McGonagall had said in class. The words seemed not to have sunk in yet, or perhaps she was merely refusing to acknowledge their meaning. McGonagall didn't reply, simply sitting in silence and allowing Hannah a moment to realise what she had said. Hannah stared at her for a few long moments, completely composed, and then, without warning, burst into tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," McGonagall said softly, putting her arms around Hannah, uncharacteristically gentle, who sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder. Feeling he was intruding on her grief, Harry made to turn away, but there was no need. The scene was already fading.

* * *

Looking around, Harry found himself in a graveyard. He could hear the real Hannah crying behind him, but didn't turn around, knowing Neville would comfort her better than he ever could. A little way away from him, among a huddle of people in black, stood the memory Hannah, pale white but composed. In years she looked no older than in the previous memory, but in every other way she seemed changed unrecognisably. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes spoke of great pain and her features were carefully arranged to disguise all emotion in a way the old Hannah could never have done.

Standing by an open grave, a minister was droning on and on about the wonderful contributions Mrs Abbot had made to the world, or some such thing, but Hannah clearly wasn't listening. She showed no sign of wanting to cry, which surprised Harry; in the time he had known her at school, Hannah had been inclined to cry at even the slightest things, and it seemed odd that she didn't cry now, at her own mother's funeral. Then again, perhaps when someone shed tears so easily, an event this terrible required something more meaningful. Perhaps her grief was too deep even for tears.

* * *

The next memory took place in the Great Hall. It wasn't a scene Harry recognised. The familiar long tables were there, with the rows of Hogwarts students sitting at them, but there was something absolutely wrong about the picture. There was no laughing or talking or cheerful arguing. Nobody shoved food absentmindedly in their mouths while frantically finishing homework. Nobody casually flicked their wands, practicing spells on the cutlery or on the food. Nobody _smiled_. They ate in silence and then sat quietly, apparently waiting to be dismissed. Harry glanced up at the staff table. Snape was not in evidence, but every other teacher sat there, equally quiet and obedient. Harry could tell from the tightness of Professor McGonagall's mouth that she was itching to do something, that it killed her to just sit here and endure this mindless obedience, but he knew she wouldn't. She cared too much about the safety of the students.

Then the Carrows stood up, and every head in the Hall snapped round to watch them. From his position by the Hufflepuff table – where Hannah sat with her classmates – Harry could see a wave of uneasiness sweep the Hall. Something was wrong.

"As I'm sure many of you know," began Alecto, an evil smile spreading across her face, "We have had a significant amount of trouble recently from a certain student, a Mr Neville Longbottom," she spat the name out, making her disgust very clear, "I want to make it very clear that this sort of behaviour will simply _not_ be tolerated here. In order to ensure there is no doubt about this, we intend to make an example of Neville Longbottom. Take this as a warning. Any further disobedience, and you will _all_ be punished." She nodded at her brother, who walked slowly over to the Gryffindor table and grabbed Neville by the arm. Shaking him off, Neville marched up to the front of the Hall, head held high. Alecto Carrow smirked, raised her wand.

"_Crucio_."

Neville fell to the ground, writhing in agony. His yells filled the Hall, and every face watched him, transfixed. Many seemed to be trying to yell, or even jump up and help Neville, but some sort of spell was keeping them in place. Hannah wasn't even trying to do anything, nor was she crying, but there was a hopelessness in her eyes that pierced Harry's conscience more than any number of tears ever could have. He knew, of course, that he couldn't possibly have gone to Hogwarts that year, or done anything to help those who had, but somehow he still felt a little guilty for not being there to suffer with them, especially after all the stories he'd heard about the way they'd all been treated. Then again, Neville had done a better job of running the DA and spearheading the resistance than he ever could have.

* * *

Eventually the yells faded, and the scene changed again. They were still in Hogwarts, in the midst of the Battle. Screams filled the air, and spells and curses flew to and fro. Hannah ducked and weaved her way through the fighters, throwing out spells at any Death Eater she could see. Around her, people fell to the floor: Death Eaters, Order members, overage DA members, even children as young as twelve or thirteen. Harry knew many of them had merely been stunned or knocked unconscious, and that most of them survived the Battle, but for Hannah there was no way of distinguishing the living from the dead. There was a steely glint in her eye, a determination to fight to the death, but at the same time her expression seemed to hold no doubt that it _would _be a fight to the death. She wasn't allowing herself to believe that they might actually win this fight. Harry supposed it must have been like that for many of the fighters. He himself had not been entirely convinced they were capable of winning, and at times had been convinced that they _weren't_.

* * *

Soon enough that scene faded too, and they were back in the very familiar office. Hannah was still crying, her face buried in Neville's shoulder. It seemed all those tears she _hadn't _cried were flooding out.

"I thought we were all going to die," she sobbed, "I really thought we were. Not that I cared so much for myself, but we'd spent the whole year trying to protect Hogwarts, and all the younger students, and now it was all going to go to waste. I just …"

"I know," said Neville soothingly, hugging her tighter, "I felt the same. The whole year we'd felt like we were fighting back, making a difference, but in the face of all that fighting and death it suddenly seemed so pathetic, like kids playing at soldiers. But we _did _make a difference, and we made it through. It's over now, Hannah." The others watched on awkwardly as her sobs gradually subsided.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice calmer now, "I'm being stupid. It's over. Of course it's over. Sorry, Neville." She pulled away from him, embarrassed now.

"It's fine," he said lightly, "Don't worry about it. I do have one question, though. About the memory with me. Why that one specifically? I mean, you saw loads of people tortured that year. _You _were tortured a lot that year. What made that one the worst?" Harry caught Ginny's eye and she shook her head in despair. Harry grinned. He may never have been great at this sort of stuff, but it was blindingly obvious how Hannah felt about Neville, and apparently Neville was the only one who couldn't see it. Even _Ron _rolled his eyes, exasperated at Neville's slowness, and Ron wasn't exactly known for his sensitivity and ability to understand other people.

"I just … um … well it was the first time it happened in front of anyone, and … well you were a symbol for everyone. You represented the resistance. _Everyone_ found it really hard watching that." Neville seemed to accept Hannah's stammered explanation, but he was the only one. Everyone may have found it hard watching that, but somehow he doubted it would have been on their list of worst memories ever. He exchanged another look with Ginny, and she smiled happily at him, in a way reminiscent of the times before she was angry with him, when they used to laugh at Ron and Hermione's mixed up relationship. Things were going back to normal, or perhaps even better than normal, and in spite of the strange situation, Harry found himself feeling happier than he had in a long time.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I realise it's been about a month since I last updated. I'm very sorry and I promise I'll try to be more regular from now on.**

Chapter Thirteen

When they delved into the Pensieve once more, they found themselves standing in a deserted corridor of Hogwarts. Almost immediately, two girls rounded the corner and walked towards them, arguing in a whisper. One was Astoria, and the other a little older, and while she looked familiar, Harry couldn't put a name to her.

"I've chosen my side, Daphne," Astoria hissed, "I'm with the DA now, and I'm not going to change my mind about that." Of course. Daphne Greengrass, Astoria's older sister.

"Tori, you can't. Listen to me!" Daphne stopped walking and grabbed Astoria's arm, "It's not just yourself you're putting in danger. If they catch you, they'll punish the whole family. You'll get us all killed!"

"They don't want to spill too much blood, not from the pureblood families anyway. If they catch me, just tell them I'm the rebel of the family. Disown me, if necessary. The Carrows love you. They think you're amazing. Swear that you knew nothing about it, and they'll forget I'm even related to you." Astoria spoke firmly, but it was clear it was killing her to say this. Her eyes begged Daphne to tell her that it wasn't just her own skin she was worried about, and to plead with Astoria not to put herself in danger like this. Not that she would have listened, but everybody needs someone to care about them. Everybody wants somebody to try and stop them from putting themselves in danger.

There was a long silence. Daphne seemed to be going through some difficult internal struggle, while Astoria stared defiantly at her, obviously trying not to lose her nerve.

"Okay then," Daphne said finally, "Fight for the DA. Follow that idiot Longbottom, but don't come crying to me when he leads you to your death. And don't expect me to help you. As of this moment, you are no longer my sister. I won't tell the Carrows about your betrayal, but that's all I will do for you. You've picked the losing side, and one day soon you're going to realise it, but don't expect me to forgive you when you do. From this day onwards, you are dead to me." And with those parting words, Daphne turned on her heel and stalked away down the corridor. Astoria stood, unmoving, until her sister was out of sight, and only then did she sink to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

* * *

In the next memory, Astoria was just coming out of what looked like a girl's bathroom. She was a little younger in this memory, though not much. Just as she turned to walk away down the corridor, a scream pierced the air, and Moaning Murtle flew out of the boy's bathroom nearby.

"MURDER!" she screamed, "MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" Astoria swung round and poked her head cautiously around the bathroom door. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry knew what she would see.

Draco Malfoy lay on the bathroom floor, blood pooling around him. Harry knelt at his side, face white.

"No – I didn't –" he said, horrified. He didn't notice Astoria. Nor did Snape as he slammed through the door, eyes fixed on the body on the floor.

"No!" Astoria whispered, "No, he can't be –"

The scene faded.

* * *

Now they were in a very familiar memory: the Battle of Hogwarts. Astoria wasn't fighting, but she ducked through flying spells and curses, darting from one fallen fighter to another. Reaching a boy, far too young to have been there at all, she knelt down. Stepping closer, Harry realised why. Unlike many others, this boy was still alive and conscious, though an injury to his legs meant he couldn't move. Throwing him over her shoulder, Astoria made her way back through the fighters, heading through winding corridors until she left the main battle far behind. The occasional fighter ran past her, but they were all too focused on whatever they were doing to bother with her. Eventually she reached a deserted classroom that Harry had never been in.

Inside, injured fighters lay side by side on blankets or thin mattresses, being tended to by Madam Pomfrey. She glanced up as Astoria came in.

"Put him over there," she said, pointing to a space in the corner, "How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure yet," Astoria replied, setting the boy down carefully and peeling off his robes and the tattered remains of his shirt. She gasped as she saw what was underneath. There was an enormous gash in his stomach and he was bleeding freely. Madam Pomfrey hurried over, but when she saw the boy's injury she simply shook her head sadly.

"There's nothing I can do. He's too far gone. I'm surprised he's not dead already. She spoke quietly to avoid distressing the other patients, and Astoria didn't try to argue. She merely took the boy's hand in her own, her expression resigned. The boy stirred.

"Who are you?" he asked in a small voice, gazing up at her, "Are you an angel?"

"No," she said softly, "I'm no angel."

"You look like an angel."

"I'm afraid not."

"Dad always used to tell me Mum had gone to be with the angels. I stopped believing him once I got older. I thought I was too grown up to believe in angels. I'm not so sure now. I hope he's right. I guess I'll find out soon, won't I?"

"Yes," Astoria's voice was thick with tears, "I guess you will."

"Don't cry for me," the boy said, watching a tear roll down Astoria's cheek, "I can hear them now. The angels, I mean. I'm going to see Mum soon. You'll tell Dad that, won't you? That I've gone to be with Mum and the angels. I'll be happy there."

"I'll tell him."

The boy smiled then, with a little sigh, almost like he was falling asleep, his eyelids drifted shut and he was gone.

* * *

There was silence when they all landed back in the office. Eventually, Astoria spoke.

"His name was Dan and he was only twelve. I didn't find that out until afterwards though, when his dad identified him. I passed on the message, and his dad thanked me about a million times for being there with him when he died. I'm glad I was. It would have been wrong for him to die alone. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, sitting there beside him, completely helpless."

Ginny stepped forwards and hugged her tightly.

"You weren't helpless," she said gently, "You helped him in the best way possible, and I'm sure his dad will always be grateful to you for that." She gave Harry a look that said clearly that they needed to move on. He nodded discreetly, then stepped forwards.

"Come on," he said, "Let's go on to the next person." There was a murmur of agreement and everyone gathered around the Pensieve again.

* * *

The memory was a much older one than Harry expected. They were in the Gryffindor common room. He could see himself, aged no more than twelve or thirteen, but this obviously wasn't his memory. Then he spotted the Weasleys, sitting not far away from him. Fred and George were very pale and Ron was shaking. He got up and walked over to Harry.

"She knew something, Harry," he said quietly, "That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all. She'd found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was–"

Of course. Second year. When they all thought Ginny was dead.

* * *

The memory played out a little further, but ended when Harry and Ron got up to go and find Lockhart. The scene that replaced it was strikingly familiar. Fred, George and Ron sat in similar attitudes of fear and despair, but this time they were in Sirius' house and this time Ginny was with them. Harry figured it out faster this time. Fifth year. Arthur Weasley had been attacked, and they were waiting to see how serious it was.

* * *

In the third memory, the entire family was there, all but one. The grief within the group was palpable, and made it clear that this situation wasn't like the others. This time there was no doubt. This time one of them truly was dead; his body lay before them as proof. This time there was no hope. Fred was gone. He was never coming back. Even Harry couldn't rescue him this time.

* * *

Then they came to a memory Harry had been expecting from the moment he realised it was Ron's turn, but had half been hoping wouldn't happen after all. Ron shouldn't be put through this. It wasn't something that should be shared with the whole group. Then again, weren't all the memories ones you wouldn't normally choose to share? Was this really so much worse than any of the rest?

"I'm going to open it," Harry was saying, stepping towards a rock, on which the locket lay, glittering with an eerie light, "and you stab it. Straight away, OK? Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the diary tried to kill me."

"How are you going to open it?" Ron asked, brandishing the sword of Gryffindor nervously.

"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue."

"No! No, don't open it! I'm serious!"

"Why not? Let's get rid of the damn thing, it's been months –"

"I can't, Harry, I'm serious – you do it – "

"But why?"

"Because that thing's bad for me!" Ron said, backing away. Having already seen everything that came next Harry turned around to see the reactions of the group. "I can't handle it!" Ron continued behind him, "I'm not making excuses, Harry, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you and Hermione, it made me think stuff, stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse, I can't explain it, and then I'd take it off and I'd get my head on straight again, and then I'd have to put the effing thing back on – I can't do it Harry!"

The whole group looked fascinated. The truth about Voldemort's supposed immortality and the Horcruxes had spread after he was defeated, and they had all clearly realised what the locket was. Hermione's face was stony. Clearly this was just building on the anger she'd been reminded of by the previous memories, and Ron's excuses where doing nothing to help. Harry wondered whether the rest of the memory would do anything to change that. He thought it might.

"On three," Harry could hear himself saying, "One … two … three … _open_." He still wasn't watching the locket – he was watching everyone else – but he could tell from their gasps when the locket opened

_"I have seen your heart and it is mine."_

"Don't listen to it! Stab it!"

_"I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All that you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible …" _Hermione's face wasn't quite so harsh anymore, though it was still not exactly sympathetic. Ginny was very pale. In contrast, the present-day Ron was completely composed. The Horcrux seemed to have less power over him now.

_"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter … least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend … second best, always, eternally overshadowed …"_

Astoria looked intrigued. Neville's face was creased in sympathy. Even Hermione was beginning to soften.

_"Why return?" _It sounded like the Riddle-Harry and Riddle-Hermione had appeared, _"We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence … we laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption –"_

_ "Presumption! Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?"_

Hannah had tears in her eyes; her face shone with compassion. Draco was transfixed, and seemed slightly stunned, like he couldn't believe the great Ron Weasley had insecurities like this. Hermione's face showed pure horror.

_"Your mother confessed that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange …"_

_ "Who wouldn't prefer him, what woman would take you? You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him."_

Nobody could tear their eyes away from the scene.

"Do it, Ron!"

The whole group held their breath. All but Harry and Ron of course.

"Ron –?"

Ron's composure had slipped ever so slightly as he watched his former self, but he was still surprisingly calm. Harry turned to watch the end of the scene. The sword flashed, the locket screamed and then it was over.

* * *

They were back in the office. Harry looked around at the group. Every single one of them, bar none, was staring at Ron.

Silence.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Everyone was watching Ron intently, slightly stunned by what they had just seen. Ron, however, was completely oblivious. He had eyes for only one person.

Hermione's eyes sparkled with tears. Some inner conflict was clearly visible in her face as she struggled to comprehend what it was she had just seen.

"I … I had no idea," she said very softly, "I never _dreamed _that you … that you ever thought I … how could you possibly have thought I felt like that about you?"

"I've always come second," Ron explained, "To my brothers, to Harry, to everyone. And you … you're so pretty and clever and amazing. Why someone like you want someone like me? I just …" he tailed off. Hermione took his hands in hers, smiling gently.

"You were never _ever _second in my eyes. From the moment we met you've annoyed me, infuriated me, made me laugh, made me cry, caused me a thousand sleepless nights, made me happier that I ever dreamed it was possible to be, and pretty much driven me insane. I've hated you, loved you and felt just about everything in between. The one thing you have never been to me is insignificant or second best. So long as you are a part of my life, Ron Weasley, everything and everyone else will come second best to _you_." She stopped, eyes burning fiercely, daring him to disagree with her. Of course, Ron had – after all these years – had enough experience to know _not _to disagree with Hermione Granger.

"I know," he said, meeting her gaze, "I knew from the moment I got back to the tent with Harry and you tried to kill me with your bare hands. I think I suddenly realised that I'd never seen you so angry with anyone else – _never_. Not even that time you punched Draco Malfoy, back in third year. You wouldn't have been that angry with Harry if he'd been the one to walk out. Because you only ever get that angry with me. I don't think I've ever been so happy to be repeatedly punched. Partly just because you were there – and no matter how pissed off you were, that was better than the weeks and weeks I'd just spent without you – and partly because it meant you _cared_. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it makes complete sense. Do you think you're ever going to stop making me so angry I just about want to murder you?" she asked jokingly. Ron grinned.

"I really hope not," he replied, still staring into her eyes.

"Ahem." Ginny cleared her throat loudly. Ron and Hermione both jumped, and then looked around, blushing deeply as they realised that everyone was still watching them.

"Ummm … so … who's next?" Ron said, gesturing towards the Pensieve in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"I think there's only Neville and Draco left now," said Astoria as they all gathered round. Both boys in question looked very worried. Harry looked at them for permission before continuing.

"You both ready?" he asked. They nodded.

"Alright," Harry said, "Let's go."

* * *

The corridor they found themselves in was very familiar. Harry had been here before. They were in St Mungo's, and Harry suddenly had a very strong feeling that Neville would appear in the memory fairly soon.

Sure enough, the formidable figure of Neville's gran was striding towards them, followed by the very small but easily recognisable five-year-old Neville.

"Now, I know you insist you're old enough to meet your parents," Neville's gran was saying, "But if you find it too difficult then just tell me and we can come back once you're older."

"No," Neville said firmly, displaying more of the confidence of his sixteen or seventeen year old self than the insecurity he had displayed when Harry first met him at eleven, "They're _my _parents and I want to see them." His gran smiled fondly, if a little sadly, at him and sighed.

"Very well," she agreed, pushing open the door to the ward and following her grandson inside. A nurse greeted them as they came in and they made their way over to a pair of beds surrounded by curtains at the far end of the ward. Pulling back the curtains, Neville's gran revealed the two people inside.

"Hello, Frank! Hello, Alice!" she said brightly, "Look who I've brought with me today." Frank was staring off into space and didn't seem to notice her at all. Alice, whose face had brightened when she saw her mother-in-law, shrank away from Neville, a suspicious look in her eyes. She looked at Neville's gran, seeming to struggle to figure out what she wanted to say.

"Who?" she said eventually, the single word taking a great deal of effort.

"I'm Neville," Neville said eagerly, bouncing forward to introduce himself, "Your son." Frank looked up.

"Have … no … son," he said slowly. Neville's face fell. His gran stepped forwards, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Yes you do, Frank," she said gently, "This is your son, Neville. I've told you all about him, remember?"

"Have no son," Frank repeated, more insistently. Neville's gran opened her mouth to argue with him again, but Neville shook his head.

"It's okay, Gran," he said quietly, his voice more serious than any five-year-old's ever should be, "I don't …" he burst into tears and ran out of the ward.

* * *

Before Harry could digest what had just happened, the memory had changed to a very different one. A Death Eater was holding tightly onto Neville – now ten years older – and Harry stood opposite them, gripping the prophecy in his hands. They were in the Ministry of Magic.

"Let's see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents … unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy."

"DON'D GIB ID DO DEM!" Neville yelled, "DON'D GIB ID DO DEM, HARRY!"

_"Crucio." _Neville screamed. The memory blurred a little, as though Neville had been in too much pain to remember anything clearly, then faded altogether.

* * *

The next series of memories were extremely painful to watch. All came from the year in which the Carrows had been in charge of Hogwarts. Harry saw first years subjected to the Cruciatus Curse simply for daring to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, members of the DA tortured for being caught carrying out Neville's plans, and some of Neville's best friends – Luna, Ginny, Hannah, Dean, Seamus – punished excruciatingly for their part in the rebellion. There were no memories of Neville himself being tortured, though Harry was sure it must have happened countless times, probably more than anyone else in the school. Harry could understand why. It was all very well to let yourself in for punishment like that, but it must have been incredibly difficult to watch others being hurt, particularly when Neville, as leader of the DA, had seen all those kids as his own responsibility.

* * *

These memories led onto memories from the Battle of Hogwarts, similar in many ways, except that the kids were no longer simply being hit or yelled at or tortured. Now they were dying: some so young the shouldn't have been there at all, and none old enough that their lives were ready to end.

* * *

Neville wasn't crying or shaking or breaking down when the emerged from the Pensieve, the way most of them had been. Instead, he was very calm. It was as though he had come to terms with all the memories a long time ago, putting them behind him and taking away all power they had over him.

"Are you okay, Neville?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah," he smiled at her, "I think the hardest one to watch was that one with my parents. I'd almost completely forgotten about it. They're not like that anymore, though. I go in to visit them as often as possible, and they always look happy to see me now. Particularly Mum. I'm not sure they really know that I'm their son, but they know I'm a friend, and Mum actually remembered my name the other day." He spoke cheerfully, displaying none of the pain that must surely be lurking underneath.

"I think you're one of the bravest people I've ever met," Hannah said softly. At this, Neville blushed and told her not to be silly. Hannah didn't argue, but she slipped her arm round his waist and, after a moment of surprise, Neville put his own arm around her shoulders. Harry and Ginny exchanged a grin, while Ron and Hermione linked hands, Hermione leaning her head on Ron's shoulder. Astoria looked at Draco.

"So it's only you left now, Draco," she said quietly. All the colour drained from his face.

"I'm not sure I can do this," his voice was trembling.

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy," Ron said shortly, "You were quite happy to watch everyone else's memories. You can hardly turn around now and say you're not willing to do it yourself."

"And besides," agreed Hannah, "All the rest of us managed it. And your worst memories can't be any worse than ours, can they? After all, we all lived through a war." Harry wasn't so sure about this, but he didn't say anything.

"No … you don't understand …" Draco was backing away from the Pensieve now, "I _can't_. Can't you just … I don't know … can't you all just go in without me? You watch the memories, and I'll stay out here."

"I don't think it'll work unless we all go in," Astoria said, "And I think you need to do this, Draco. The memories won't lose their power over you until you find the courage to face them." She took his hand. "Come on. We'll be with you. You can do this, Draco."

Draco looked at his hand and hers in surprise, as though he couldn't understand how the had come to be linked. Seeming to draw strength from the human contact, he took a deep breath.

"Okay," he agreed, "Let's get this over with."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"Mr Malfoy, you're mother is here to see you," the Slytherin common room fell silent at Snape's words and every eye fixed on Draco as he slowly and calmly set down the magazine he'd been reading, dislodged Pansy from his lap and followed Snape from the room. They walked to Snape's office, where Narcissa Malfoy was sitting in a chair by the desk, sobbing into a handkerchief. A look of worry crossed Draco's face.

"What is it?" he asked, "What's happened? Is it Father? Has something happened to Father?" Narcissa nodded. Draco went pale.

"What's happened to him? Is he okay?" Narcissa seemed unable to reply, so Snape stepped forwards.

"He was caught in the Ministry with a group of Death Eaters," he explained, "He's been sent to Azkaban. I'm so sorry." Snape placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, face gentler than Harry had ever seen it in life. Draco shrugged him off and ran from the room. The scene faded.

* * *

Draco and Snape were running through the grounds of Hogwarts. Harry could see Hagrid's hut burning in the background and was fairly sure it was the end of sixth year. They disapparated, and somehow the memory followed them.

They popped into existence directly outside the gates of the manor. Raising his arm, Draco followed Snape through the gates and up the sweeping driveway to the house. They were both breathing hard from the running. The door swung open and Snape strode in, leaving Draco to hurry along in his wake. Wormtail ushered them through to a room where Voldemort was waiting. Draco looked terrified.

"Is it done?" the Dark Lord's voice cut through the air.

"It is," Snape replied simply, bowing. Draco too bowed, and then straightened up, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"And who did it?" the Dark Lord asked, "Was it you, Draco?" Snape stepped forwards.

"It was me," he said, "Forgive me, my Lord, I know you wished Draco to do it, and I should have allowed him too, but we had very little time. I could hear the Order coming, and I felt it would be faster to do it myself. My instincts and my desire for revenge against the old fool overcame me. I beg your forgiveness." He knelt. Harry found his respect for Snape become even greater. To risk his own wellbeing in an attempt to save Draco was very brave.

Voldemort clearly wasn't fooled however. He threw Snape a look of disgust, presumably for his compassion, before turning to Draco.

"So you must be very disappointed you didn't get to do it yourself, Draco," he said softly, but it was clear he was just playing with Draco.

"Y-yes, my Lord," Draco stammered, "I-I am."

"_Liar_," he hissed, "You're not disappointed. Sometimes I wonder, Draco, just how loyal you really are to me." Draco remained silent. "Let me give you a little taste of what happens to people who are _not_ loyal to me. _Crucio._"

Draco screamed and fell to the floor, writhing and screaming in pain. Voldemort laughed. Suddenly he stopped. Draco lay on the floor, sobbing pathetically. Voldemort surveyed him with a mixture of amusement and disgust, while Snape gazed impassively at a spot above his head.

"My Lord," he began, "Is this really necessary?" He spoke casually, as though he didn't really care either way, but Harry could tell that was merely an act.

"Yes, Severus, I believe it is. Draco has failed me, and must pay the price."

"But he has learned his lesson now, surely?"

"Perhaps. Have you learned your lesson, Draco?"

"Yes, my Lord. I'm sorry," he gasped, "Please … please don't –" he subsided into sobs. The Dark Lord waved his hand dismissively.

"Take him away, Severus," he said, turning away.

"Come on," Snape said, pulling Draco to his feet. His voice was harsh, but his hands were gentle. Draco staggered out of the room, clinging to him for support. As the door swung shut behind them he turned to Draco and said urgently, "Go to your room, get some rest and stay out of the Dark Lord's way for as long as possible. He is very angry with your family, particularly with your father, and you would do best to avoid angering him further." Draco nodded and walked away from him, towards the staircase. The scene faded again.

* * *

They were in a room at Malfoy Manor. It was a memory Harry remembered, though he had seen it through Voldemort's eyes.

A man was writhing in agony on the floor. Draco's hand faltered and the torture stopped.

"Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure …" Draco hesitated, clearly reluctant to go on.

"… do it, or feel my wrath yourself!" Very pale, Draco raised his wand again.

"C-crucio." He looked terrified, and the spell was clearly pathetic; the man barely twitched.

"Do it Draco!" But Draco couldn't. He sank to the floor, and Harry felt his heart go out to him. They'd been wrong to believe that Draco's memories couldn't be any worse than their own. While the year had hardly been a pleasant one for Harry – or for any of them – at least he'd been free most of the time, and had always had his friends to back him up. Draco hadn't had anybody.

"Very well," Voldemort said softly, "_Crucio._" This time it was Draco who was at the receiving end of the curse. He screamed agonizingly, and Harry wanted nothing more than to be able to stop this memory, to stop seeing this boy, who had once been his classmate, go through something so horrific, so unbearable.

* * *

He got his wish. The scene changed once again, and Draco was scrambling up a pile of junk in the Room of Requirement, flames licking at his ankles. Ahead of him, Goyle pulled himself up, allowing loose objects to fall on Draco, making no attempt to help his so-called friend.

They reached the top and perched there, scanning the room for some way out, coughing as the smoke filled their lungs. Draco's foot slipped and he almost fell, letting out a piercing scream, but he caught himself just in time, though Goyle made no move to help him. In the meantime, the fire rose higher and higher, the flames coming closer and closer and closer …

* * *

The memories ended and they were all back in the office. Draco looked around at their horrified faces.

"What?" he said defensively, "You didn't think being a Death Eater was all fun and games with sick leave and holidays whenever we needed them?" Harry was suddenly reminded of Hermione's lectures on house elves, and found himself noticing the similarities between their situation and Draco's. Unpaid and with no rights at all, he had been forced into a life he'd never really wanted and been used as a vent for Voldemort's anger. It must have been … horrific.

Astoria had tears in her eyes, and all of a sudden she hugged Draco tightly. He looked confused, and slightly at a loss as to what to do. Awkwardly, he sort of patted her back, looking at Harry, Ron and Neville desperately, his eyes begging them to help him out somehow. It was such a normal, typically "teenage guy" expression that Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing. Astoria unwound her arms from Draco's neck, took one look at his expression and joined Harry. Before long, everyone else joined in, laughing harder than the joke really merited. For a few minutes, they weren't survivors of a war, or Death Eaters, or DA members, or people who had been forced to grow up too fast and choose sides against one another, or even Gryffindors and Slytherins and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

For a few minutes, they were merely eight teenagers, laughing together as teenagers do.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Suddenly all very tired, the eight companions – they couldn't quite all be described as friends just yet, though with the increased openness and honesty, they were certainly closer to being that way – ate quickly and went to sleep. Harry fell asleep quickly, but it was to strange, disturbed dreams of trapped people and dark figures and voices screaming.

When he woke, it was to a quiet murmur of voices. Most of the people around him still seemed to be asleep, but two people were talking softly. As he woke up properly, he identified them as Draco and Astoria, and immediately tried to go beck to sleep, unwilling to impose on their private conversation. He was unsuccessful however, and was suddenly reminded of overhearing a conversation involving Hagrid several years ago as he closed his eyes and tried very hard to think about something else.

"… just don't know how I can go on with life as though none of that ever happened," Draco was saying, his voice thick with tears.

"You don't have to," Astoria said gently, "Nobody's going to be able to pretend that nothing ever happened, and just carry on as normal. Everyone's lost something to this war. Their innocence, the ability to trust, homes, loved ones: something has been taken from everybody that they'll never get back. We're all just going to have to muddle through somehow until we can find some way to build new lives for ourselves."

"But I wasn't just some innocent victim," Draco muttered, "I was on the wrong side. I don't deserve to rebuild my life, and I'm not going to have anyone's sympathy or support. I'm completely alone, and I don't think I can get through this by myself."

"Don't be silly," Astoria told him, her voice taking on a business-like, no-nonsense tone, "You were a victim as much as anyone else. I saw all your memories, and that much was apparent. Perhaps the rest of the Wizarding World doesn't see that quite yet, but there are six people asleep in this room who know exactly what you went through, and they also happen to be some of the biggest war heroes of the magical community. If people see that they've forgiven you, then they're going to follow their lead. You deserve a new life as much as any of us. And besides," she added, her voice softer again now, "you've got me. Regardless of what anyone else thinks, _I'm_ going to help you rebuild your life."

"But why?" Draco asked, completely bewildered, "Why would you give a damn about me. Nobody else does. And why …" he hesitated, "Why was that memory of me in the bathroom there, as one of your worst memories?"

"I thought you were dead," Astoria said simply, her voice very sad. In spite of himself, Harry found himself opening his eyelids just a tiny bit so that he could see the two of them. He told himself that, after all the private stuff they'd all shared recently, and considering he didn't have any way to _not _listen to the conversation, he may as well go all the way. Draco was leaning against a wall, hunched up with his legs tucked into his chest. Astoria sat cross-legged facing him. Draco looked frustrated.

"But why did you _care_? I mean, I know we were kind of friends for a little while, but that's hardly enough for that to be in your worst memories. You've seen people _actually _die since then. What … why did you … I just don't understand," he finished. Now it was Astoria's turn to look frustrated.

"I _care _about you, Draco," she said, "I know that's hard for you to believe, and I know you've always struggled to accept that you are actually a person worth caring about, and maybe some of your so-called friends haven't done much to dispel the notion that people only hang around you when it's convenient and then abandon you like you're worth nothing at all. But not everyone's like that. Some people are actually capable of sticking with you through thick and thin, and of recognising that you have something worthwhile. You're a truly good person deep down, and I can see that even if no one else can."

"I don't deserve a friend like that," Draco said; very, very quiet now, "After the things I've done I don't deserve anyone caring about me." Astoria sighed.

"But that's not the point. It doesn't matter whether you _deserve _it or not. Friendship isn't about what you deserve, it's about giving and understanding regardless of what you've done. And even if you'd done nothing at all to merit me caring about you, I would anyway. Because sometimes two people are tied together, and nothing either of them does can change that. I can't abandon you, Draco because …" she paused, "… because I love you." Slowly, she leaned in and kissed him very gently. Harry closed his eyes again, for the sake of their privacy, and found himself drifting off to sleep again.

When he next woke, it was to a much louder babble of voices. Yawning and sitting up, he saw that almost everyone was awake. Ron and Hermione were sorting through what was left of the food and attempting to make some sort of breakfast out of it. Ginny was still asleep, curled up under Harry's jacket in the corner. Neville and Hannah were sitting on the far side of the office, deep in conversation. From the little smile on Hannah's face and the enormous grin on Neville's, Harry thought he could guess what they might be talking about. Scanning further round the room, Harry spotted Draco sitting against a wall, apparently asleep, while Astoria was sprawled out across the floor, her head in Draco's lap, sleeping peacefully. As though feeling Harry's gaze on him, Draco stirred and opened his eyes. He looked down at Astoria, then met Harry's eyes, his face the picture of amazed bewilderment. How did this happen? he seemed to be asking, How can I be so lucky? Glancing over at Ginny, whose long hair spilled across the floor, stunning against the black of Harry's jacket, he knew exactly how Draco felt.

"Breakfast's ready, guys," Hermione called. Gently, Draco touched Astoria's shoulder, and she opened her eyes and smiled up at him sleepily. Harry turned away and walked over to Ginny. Kneeling down beside her, he kissed her on the cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open and for a moment they simply gazed at each other, falling in love all over again. Then Ginny sat up and slipped her hand into his, and they went to join the others for breakfast. Neville was still grinning, his arm round Hannah's shoulders, hers slipped around his waist. Draco and Astoria sat down next to each other, apparently unwilling to put more than a metre between the two of them, and Hermione and Ron simply exchanged a look as they handed out plates of food to everyone, that being all that was needed. It ought to have been awkward, with four couples all in the same room – some newer than others – but it wasn't. It was perfect.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hope this chapter is a little more cheerful than some of the others :)**

Chapter Seventeen

"Guys," Hannah said suddenly as they finished their breakfast, "Why is the Pensieve still glowing?" They all turned to look. Sure enough, the Pensieve was still emitting that strange glow that seemed to invite them in. Hermione sighed.

"What now?" she asked, a little frustrated, "Hasn't it put us through enough already?"

"I'm not sure I can stand much more," Ron agreed, a statement which was met with nods all round. After all the things they'd had to relive, nobody was eager to go back into the Pensieve.

"I don't know, though," Astoria said, "The memories so far have been pretty hard to watch, I'll admit, but haven't they done us quite a lot of good? Perhaps we needed to go back and watch all that really awful stuff, in order to move on with our lives. And perhaps whatever it wants to show us now is going to do us more good." It was hard to argue with that. The open, easy atmosphere in the room at that moment was entirely the result of the things they had learned about themselves and each other over the last couple of days, as were the happier relationships that were blooming between them. Harry couldn't deny that without the Pensieve Ginny probably wouldn't be sitting beside him with her hand in his. In fact, she would probably be sitting at the other side of the room, glaring at him.

"Alright, then," he said standing up, "If everyone wants to – or even if you don't, because I have a feeling the Pensieve might not give us very much choice in the matter – I think we should probably go back in again."

"You're right," Ginny agreed, joining. Slowly, some more reluctantly than others, the rest of the group joined him around the Pensieve. One by one, they dived in.

* * *

They were standing in the Great Hall. From the looks of things, Harry had just succeeded in defeating Voldemort. Survivors wandered around, slightly dazed looks on their faces. Harry was still surrounded by a group of cheering people, so the battle had probably only ended fairly recently. Ron was pushing through people, obviously looking for someone. In his hurry, he ran straight into Ginny, who almost fell over but somehow couldn't conjure up the willpower to glare at him.

"Sorry, Ginny. Sorry, I just wasn't looking where I was going … listen, have you seen Hermione?" Ginny smiled, but it was a weak smile.

"I think I saw her over there somewhere," she said, pointing. Ron hurried off in the direction she had indicated, soon coming across Hermione, who looked slightly at a loss. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the Great Hall.

"Ron, where are we … Ron!" she stopped and pulled her hand from his, "Ron, where are we going? Don't you think we should be with Harry right now?"

"This'll only take a second," he insisted, dragging her over to sit on the staircase.

"Okay," she sighed, sitting down, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I … I just needed to talk to you." Hermione indicated for him to go on, so he took a deep breath and continued: "We've never been very good at talking to each other. Communication's not exactly been the strong point of our friendship, but I think we need to have a proper conversation about … us."

Hermione looked a little nervous now, but she didn't say anything. Biting her lip, she waited for Ron to elaborate.

"Particularly after we … kissed earlier. I think we need to decide what that actually meant. Are we officially 'together' now? Or was it just a spur of the moment thing – you know, with all the excitement and the fear and everything? Cos if you don't want to get together then I completely understand–"

"Ron," Hermione said, cutting him off, "If you're regretting kissing me back, or if you don't want anything to happen then that's fine. Just say so. You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings or anything." Ron, who had been staring at the floor as he talked, snapped his head up in astonishment.

"_I _don't regret it!" he said, "How could you even think that? I was scared that _you _were regretting it. When you kissed me that was … incredible. I think I could quite honestly say it was the best moment of my life, regardless of everything else that was going on. I think I could have died at that moment and I wouldn't have cared, except that I'd have lost the opportunity to spend the rest of my life with you. I … I'm in love with you Hermione Granger."

Perhaps stunned by Ron's uncharacteristic sensitivity and honesty, or perhaps simply overcome with emotion, Hermione didn't answer for a long time. Eventually, blinking back tears, she looked up at Ron.

"I love you too, Ron Weasley."

* * *

Surprised by the happiness of the memory he had just witnessed, Harry didn't notice for a moment that they had moved to a different memory. Perhaps he could be forgiven, for the scene looked very similar to the previous one. They were in the Entrance Hall, though it looked as though it was a little later on now. There were less people out here, and a low murmur of voices drifted from the doors of the Great Hall. Glancing around, Harry spotted Astoria coming down the staircase. He couldn't see Ron or Hermione, which didn't fit in with the previous pattern of seeing a series of memories belonging to one person, but he didn't have time to consider it as they all hurried after Astoria into the Great Hall.

Walking briskly through the people who wandered around aimlessly or sat in little groups at the tables, she was soon standing near the table at which Draco was sitting with his parents. Daphne ran up to her, hugging her tightly, and began to talk non-stop about how relieved she was and how scared she'd been and how glad she was that Astoria was still alive and that things had turned out the way they had.

Leaving the sisters to their conversation, Harry found himself drifting closer to the Malfoy family. They sat in silence, still a little shell-shocked and unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"Draco," Narcissa said finally, "Are you okay?" Draco looked at her a little blankly, as though puzzling out what the words meant.

"I don't know," he said slowly, "I mean, I guess I'm glad that Potter won, but what's going to happen to us now? Azkaban? And even if we don't spend the rest of our lives rotting away in prison, everybody hates us. We'll never be accepted again. We don't really have any futures, do we?"

"Perhaps I don't," Lucius said, speaking up for the first time, "But the two of you will, if it's the last thing I do. I'll tell them it was entirely my fault, and that I dragged you both into it. There's no hope for me now – not after the things I've done – but I'll be damned if I let either of you go to prison for my crimes. Particularly you, Draco. You never had any choice in any of this, and I … I'm sorry about that. I forced you into a lot of things you never wanted to do. Can you ever forgive me?" Draco stared at his father, seemingly unable to comprehend what he had just heard. Eventually, very slowly, he nodded.

"And perhaps we won't be completely despised," Narcissa said brightly, though there was a hint of desperation in her voice, "There must be _some _people here at Hogwarts – some of your old classmates who don't hate you."

As if on cue, Astoria broke away from Daphne and came over to sit down next to them.

"Are you alright, Draco?" she asked, "I'm so glad you're not hurt." Draco looked surprised.

"Are you?" he asked, "You must be the only one. I can't imagine anyone else is very pleased."

"You'd be surprised," Astoria said with a smile, "Over the last year, most people I've talked to have said they didn't think you really wanted to be part of all that stuff. People don't hate you, Draco. You've still got friends – Daphne and Theo, certainly, and me of course – and I know lots of people who'd be happy to give you a second chance."

"A second chance?" Draco repeated, looking as though she had just offered him the most precious gift he'd ever been given, "A second chance is all I could ask for." His face broke into a smile for what was probably the first time in a year or so. He looked at his parents, and then back at the person who had offered him this incredible opportunity.

"Thank you, Astoria."

* * *

The scene faded, and when it next reformed they were in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was very loud and raucous, with everyone in a very good mood. Some sort of party seemed to be going on, a celebration of some sort. Harry spotted a few people in Quidditch outfits and guessed they might just have won a Quidditch match, or more likely the House Cup, but he couldn't see himself.

He did, however, spot Ginny and Hermione, standing together in the middle of the room. Edging closer, the group could hear the earnest conversation going on between the two girls.

"If you don't go for it soon, you're going to lose your opportunity," Hermione was saying.

"But why do _I _have to make the first move?" Ginny complained, "_He's _the guy? Isn't it his job?" Hermione sighed.

"Ginny, if you wait for Harry to make the first move then you're going to be waiting a very long time."

"But what if he doesn't feel the same way? I could ruin my chances for good."

"I know my best friend, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that he _does _feel the same way. If you knew Harry the way I do you'd know there was absolutely no doubt about that. He's crazy about you, but he's too shy to say anything. Plus, he's scared stiff of what Ron might say." Ginny laughed.

"Ron can get lost," she said, "I couldn't care less what he thinks. Alright, I'll let him know how I feel. But how do you think I should–" she broke off as the portrait swung open and Harry stepped inside. Turning away from Hermione, Ginny flew towards him and threw her arms around him. And then, as though they were the only two people in the room, Harry kissed her.

* * *

Caught up in the memory of that wonderful, wonderful moment, it caught Harry by surprise when he found himself in the Room of Requirement. There were a lot of people in there, more than Harry could remember being there, even when the DA was at its height in fifth year. There were a lot of familiar faces, as well as a lot of new ones. Neville stood in front of them all, fidgeting very nervously as he waited for them to quiet down.

"Right," he said eventually, obviously doing his best to sound confident, "Um … well I've asked you to come here because I was thinking maybe we could start up the DA again; you know, the group Harry led in fifth year. Except that instead of just learning new spells we'd be fighting back in some way, trying to protect some of the younger students from being picked on by the Carrows, and showing them that we're not going to give in as easily as they think." There was a feeble cheer, but nobody really looked very convinced.

"But we're doing that anyway," came a voice from the back, "We _have _been standing up to them. Why do we need some stupid group to help us do that? And why do we have to keep it so secret. We should just revolt."

"Well yeah," Neville admitted, "People have been standing up to the Carrows, but if we're part of a group we're more powerful. And we can be more organised about it. Only take risks when it's absolutely necessary. And we need to be more careful. The Carrows may not be very intelligent or powerful themselves, but we can't forget who they've got on their side. We're not strong enough to rise up against them yet, though when it comes to time for fighting, I have no doubt we'll all do so."

"What gives you the right to tell us what we can or can't do?" asked somebody else, "You're not Harry Potter. What makes you think that now he's gone you can just take over and start bossing us all around?" Neville was at a loss, obviously unable himself to see what made him a worthy leader of them. Just as much of the group seemed ready to walk out, Hannah stepped forwards.

"He's got a lot more right than any of you," she said, "How many of you were part of the original DA? And of that, how many of you bothered to go with Harry when he went to the Ministry? Did any of you face Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries? No? I didn't think so. As I recall, only Neville, Ginny and Luna were there for that, which is why I vote for the three of them being our leaders. I for one, would be honoured to be part of a movement led by Neville, but if the rest of you reckon you're better than him, I guess you can go get lost and not come running to us when Snape has you tortured or worse for doing something stupid." The original speaker went bright red (as did Neville) and there were a lot of rather ashamed faces as people realised they had no right to doubt Neville. With a bright smile, Hannah turned to Neville.

"You're welcome," she said, before re-joining the rest of the group. Neville simply grinned.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Well, this is the last chapter. Hard to believe I've finally finished. Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you thought of the story as a whole!**

Chapter Eighteen

They emerged from the Pensieve with the most ridiculous grins on their faces.

"Well," said Hannah, "It's about time we got to see some happy memories. I was beginning to wonder whether I'd ever been happy before in my life."

"That wasn't associated with anyone specific, was it?" Hermione mused, "It covered all of us. I suppose the Pensieve wanted to remind us of all of the best parts of our relationships."

"The Pensieve wanted?" Ron repeated, "Can the Pensieve _want _things? Surely it's just an object?"

"It's certainly not _just _an object," Astoria said, "Whether it's the Pensieve itself, or whether it's a combination of all the old spells in here, there's certainly _something _that's channelled all our memories into such an organised display. Perhaps it's us. Perhaps the magic has just picked up on our memories, and something about our thoughts and our subconscious ideas have organised them into the best means of us looking through them. Either way, I think this needed to happen, and I'm very glad it has."

Harry nodded. He agreed with Astoria. This whole room hummed with magic, magic that mostly been performed by Dumbledore, and this certainly seemed like the sort of thing that Dumbledore's magic would do.

Suddenly there was a blast, and one of the walls exploded. He threw his arm up over his head to protect himself from the shrapnel, instinctively reaching for Ginny's hand as he did so. When the dust cleared Harry straightened up, and couldn't help but grin at what he saw. Hannah was clinging onto Neville's arm as he protectively threw the other arm around her shoulder. Ron and Hermione had been standing on opposite sides of the Pensieve, but Ron had somehow managed to end up right beside her, having leapt over it even as rubble rained down on their heads in order to be able to hold her. And perhaps the most moving sight of all: Draco had instinctively stepped in front of Astoria, shielding her body with his, having made the decision to protect her without even a moment's hesitation. Wasn't it funny how, in a moment of danger, the automatic reaction of all of them had been to reach for and protect one another?

Turning to see the cause of the explosion, Harry's grin widened. Professor McGonagall stood in the hole created by the blast, wand held aloft.

"I apologise for that," she said in that crisp, business-like voice of hers (though Harry could see tears of relief glistening in her eyes), "I did hope we could get you out a little more carefully and quietly, but Professor Dumbledore's study never was given to being quiet. I'm glad to see you're all well. I'm sure your anxious friends and family will be very relieved to see you."

The eight companions looked at one another. It was almost sad to have to leave the room that had been their home for what felt like a lot longer than merely a few days, and re-join the real world. Things weren't as simple out there. They were unlikely to be friends with Draco, for one thing. He would go back to being Malfoy again out there. They might have resolved some of their differences, but there was too much history and too many complications for them ever to be more than polite acquaintances.

And their relationships might be in a better state now than they had been when they went in, but that didn't mean everything was going to be easy from now on. They had laid the foundations, but there were still problems to be solved and difficulties to get through.

"Come on," said Ron, slinging his arm around Hermione's shoulders and leading the way out. Hand in hand, Hannah and Neville followed, and, a little more reluctantly, so did Draco and Astoria. Ginny paused at the exit, waiting for Harry, before seeing that he needed to be alone and going on. Harry turned to take one last look at the room. It didn't feel like being freed after being trapped for several days; it felt like leaving a place of safety to face the harsh, cruel world. Then again, perhaps they were the same thing really.

"Thank you," he said quietly, unsure whether he was talking to the Pensieve, the room, Dumbledore, or simply the world in general. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out through the newly made hole in the wall.

Several families stood in the corridor, all looking incredibly happy. Harry's aunt and uncle weren't there, of course, and neither were Hermione's parents, but there were enough Weasleys and enthusiastic hugs from Mrs Weasley to more than make up for that.

"Oh, Harry, I've been so _worried_! And to think of you having to be in charge and not knowing when help was going to come, you must have been so scared! And you managed to keep order in there, I don't know how you did it, with that Malfoy boy in there and everything …" she rambled on and Harry, though very grateful for her concern, eventually felt the need to carefully extract himself. As the official leader of the group he felt like he had some responsibility to check they were all alright now that they were finally out.

Hannah and Neville were standing with Neville's gran, who normally looked very formidable but was obviously softening to Hannah.

"Now, of course I wasn't exactly _worried _about Neville. After all, he has been through considerably more than simply being locked in a room, and has coped with it all very well," she was saying proudly to Hannah, "I knew he'd be absolutely fine. But I … well I'm glad to have you back, Neville. Now Hannah, has he told you all about the time he stood up to Bellatrix Lestrange in the Ministry of Magic? No? Oh, well he's far too modest, you see …"

Neville turned to grin at Harry, who gave him a nod, happy that he and Hannah both seemed fine.

Standing at the other side of the room, as far as possible from the other families, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were affectionately embracing their son. As Harry approached they stiffened, but Draco stepped towards him.

"Potter, I was wondering if we …" he paused, "Could we drop the whole "enemies for life" thing? I know we're never going to be friends – I guess I blew my chances at that the first day of school – but could we agree not to be enemies?" Harry smiled.

"Of course," he said, "I think it's about time we both grew up and learned to put all that rubbish behind us." He extended his hand and Malfoy shook it. It wasn't a moment he'd ever expected to happen, but he was very glad that it was. The Wizarding community had been severely shaken and needed rebuilding, and they couldn't do that if they clung on to old enmities.

"Draco," said Astoria's voice behind Harry as she left her parents to join her new boyfriend, "Aren't you going to introduce me to your parents?" She slipped her hand into his and they turned to talk to Mr and Mrs Malfoy. Harry walked away, content that he had done what he needed to.

He was about to return to the Weasleys when McGonagall waylaid him.

"I wanted to talk to you for a moment, Potter," she said, steering him over to the corner of the room, "I very much admire the way you kept order in there – it can't have been easy considering who you were with – and I wanted to apologise for ever putting you in that situation. I should have checked far more carefully before allowing a group of people in there without even wands to help them. I take full responsibility for what happened, and I'm truly sorry." Harry glanced around the room, at the happy, reunited families and at the several pairs of interlocked hands that hadn't been that way a few days ago.

"Don't apologise, professor," he said, "I think you may have done all of us a bigger favour than you could even begin to imagine."


End file.
